The Spoils of The Victor
by Melika Elena
Summary: AU The Capitol's love & adoration is what keeps him alive & breaks his soul: 72nd Hunger Games Victor Gale Hawthorne suffers the same fate as Finnick Odair. Perhaps he just needs someone to re-light the fire within him. "Madge is his client. He cannot pursue her like a regular man, and that anger burns within him...he's never had anything real before."
1. Chapter One

**The Spoils of the Victor**

**Chapter One**

When Gale Hawthorne won the 72nd Hunger Games, he was proclaimed the most handsome Victor since Finnick Odair, the most innovative since Haymitch Abernathy, and the most surprising since Johanna Mason. The Capitol adored him, couldn't get enough of him, and that love and obsession was ultimately Gale's downfall.

Years later, Gale now knows how naïve he was to believe that once he won the Games, once he completed his Victory Tour, that he would be left alone, only to be needed during every subsequent game as a mentor alongside Haymitch. He never fathomed that he could be broken any more than he already was.

_"You poor bastard," was Finnick Odair's greeting the very first time Gale met him at one of his many Victory parties at The Capitol. _

_ "Excuse me?" Gale turned to him with a frown. He had always thought of Finnick Odair as a prissy, the Capitol's pet, but he had always seemed too charming to be such an outright snob. Should've known better. _

_ He looked at Gale from head to toe and Gale felt his body flush uncomfortably. There were always rumors about Finnick Odair's sexuality running about. Was he-?_

_ Gale looked into Finnick's eyes bravely. No, there was no lust there. Just sympathy. "Having good looks can open a lot of doors for a fellow in this kind of place," Finnick said, "but they can also open doors you wish had never existed." _

_ Gale's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you saying, Odair?"_

_ Finnick turned back and minutely shook his head. "I'll explain it to you another time," Finnick's eyes found President Snow looking ominously at them and Finnick muttered, "probably sooner rather than later."_

_ "Wha-?"_

_ But Finnick was already gone, plastering a charming smile on his face as he greeted another Capitol guest—a guest, who, Gale now knows, was his next customer. _

It's only been two years since that time. The Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games is almost here, only a few months away. But the past year he's spent living exclusively in the Capitol has felt like a never ending Hell for Gale. He was able to live in District 12, peacefully and without fear, for one year, but after his Victory Tour, he returned to the Capitol and hasn't left since. It is very rare that he does not have a client these days. His nights, his body, and his life are not his own. He is Panem's New Whore and he only shudders to think what District 12 thinks of him now, their once and past hero. He is sure that Katniss thinks he's dirt; could see the look in her eyes when he came back for the Reaping of the 73rd Hunger Games and saw her standing in the crowd, her dark eyes stormy and hateful. But as long as his family is safe, safe like President Snow promised, then he can keep going each night, no matter how brutal or perverted the customer.

He knows it's stupid and naïve to trust the President, and Gale sure as hell doesn't, not really, but he has no choice. It was either do this or his family would suffer some unfortunate "accidents". Finnick told him that it happened to his family when Finnick tried to refuse. And if there is one person that Gale trusts, it's, of all people, Finnick Odair.

They're known to the Capitol and the rest of Panem as the Dashing Duo, full of good looks and charm (although, to be fair, most of the charm is Finnick, but Gale has gotten better in the past year). They are seen at every swanky event, have the best clothes, perfect hair and smiles (all Capitol engineered-), and are rich, successful, and a part of the elite group of Victors. They make men and women alike swoon, but only the wealthiest inhabit their beds. They have both the best and worst reputations. They have every luxury they could ever want and yet they have nothing of value at all.

At first, Gale didn't want to like Finnick—his slick charisma, his social ease, the way he could charm anyone or anything—but Finnick has proved to be a good friend. He is, in some sick way, Gale's mentor when it comes to whoring himself out. Finnick seems to know everyone and everything, and he gladly confides in Gale. Finnick has never said it, but Gale knows that Finnick wants to empower him with enough knowledge to keep himself as safe as he can. Finnick wants to protect him. Gale only wonders how many clients Finnick has taken away from him so Gale doesn't have to endure them. Finnick thinks Gale doesn't know about that, but he does, and even Gale who hates charity cannot deny that he is grateful to Finnick for what he does. He just wonders how he could ever repay him.

Things aren't perfect, however. They're complete opposites and have tiffs all of the time- Finnick is too arrogant, Gale too cynical; but it's not without merit. The two have an odd friendship, but it's a good one. It works. It's enough to get them through the full nights and empty days without going crazy from loneliness.

Tonight was just like any other night: both Finnick and Gale have clients. Finnick's was a returner- she is ungodly rich and pays so that his Wednesday's are exclusively hers. Gale's client, on the other hand, was completely new to him, and completely unknown. This client is by far the most mysterious Gale has encountered yet, since Gale knew nothing about them: gender, name, age... It makes his skin crawl, because Gale _hates_ not knowing. Being ignorant about situations has only been followed by horrific consequences.

Usually, Gale will go to wherever the client wishes: events, parties, clubs, and then usually back to their apartment, but today he had no idea where he's going. Instead, a shiny black car came for him in his high rise penthouse suite and drove him to another building, shiny and cold, that, while much smaller than Gale's high rise apartment complex, was much nicer, which surprised Gale. He was, disgustingly, used to the best, and _this _far surpassed his apartment in every way. He wouldn't be surprised if he's in the apartment of President Snow himself.

Gale swallows uneasily, looking around to the room he was escorted to. Luckily, he has seen the President's mansion, and this room looks far too feminine to belong to a man. The furniture is of a fine, darker wood (_Not mahogany, _Gale thinks with a smirk) but the sheets and drapery are light and airy, a very fine pale purple. The room is not cluttered with _stuff_, unlike other clients who are obsessed with baubles and shiny objects, but instead has several bookshelves, all filled to the brim with books that Gale wonders if he has the intelligence or knowledge to read. There are lilies placed in clear, crystal vases tastefully arranged throughout the room, and, Gale likes this in particular. The room is so large, not only does it house a bed with end tables, dresser, armoire, desk and chair, but there is a whole corner section for a living area, with large, cushy furniture with throw rugs all arranged around a marble fireplace, where a simple flat screen television is hung above the mantle. In the other corner is a large, gleaming black grand piano, with sheets of music scattered around the bench and on the stand.

Gale is not given any information about this client, which is disconcerting to him. Finnick's first rule of advice is to always "know thy enemy" and to find out who they are before you meet them—Gale and Finnick would both rather _know _than not know about what kind of client they must please that night, no matter how gruesome or perverted that knowledge might be. Even if it makes themselves sick beforehand. Gale is given no name, not even a gender. He can guess that this client is a woman, but really, he has been surprised before…

Although he knows in his mind if his client caught him touching his or her things they could punish him however they wanted, Gale cannot help himself as he reaches out and touches a book with a smoke grey hardcover with gold lettering on its spine. _Panem: A History. _Gale opens up the book to a random page, even though he is sure he knows the history of Panem by heart.

However, he frowns as instead; the book talks not about Panem, but a different country. Is this book a mistake?

_Tensions between the American colonies and the British government continued to escalate, boiling over when, in 1767, the British Parliament passed the Townshend Acts, which placed a tax such essential goods like paper, glass, and tea. In response, the colonies boycotted British goods._

Gale turns another page.

_In 1765, the Sons of Liberty were formed in order to make British tax laws unenforceable. They did so by using public demonstrations, violence, and threats of violence. Although members of the Sons of Liberty believed Parliament to be acting illegally, they still sent numerous petitions and pleas for intervention from a monarch to whom they still claimed loyalty. When this failed, more action was taken. _

Now Gale is intrigued.

_In 1772, Samuel Adams in Boston formed the Committees of Correspondence, which linked Patriots in all 13 colonies and eventually provided the framework for a rebel government. A mere year later, in 1773, another Committee of Correspondence was created: in Virginia, the largest of all of the colonies, where prestigious members such as Patrick Henry and Thomas Jefferson served. This led to—_

"If you like that book so much," comes a soft voice behind him. Gale slams the book shut and whirls around, his hunter's heart pounding, "then you are more than welcome to borrow it."

Standing on the opposite side of the room, her quiet voice carrying in the silence, is a girl.

Gale has seen all types of people at the Capitol—ones who are so obsessed with fashion that they look grotesque, with leopard printed skin, dyed hair, pierced nose and eyelids and lips, tattoos crawling up their necks and around their faces, but he has never had a client who is as pure and fresh as this girl.

She reminds him of a warm summer breeze, unexpected and welcome. Her face is clear of the usual enhancements, or so it seems. Her make-up is light but Gale thinks that any more would just detract from her simple beauty.

He cannot help but equate her to a Town kid from District 12—her hair reminds him of Primrose Everdeen, tumbling down her back in waves of flaxen and gold. Her eyes are a clear, cornflower blue and her lips are perfectly shell pink. She looks well fed and healthy, her fair skin glowing, but at the same time she seems delicate, lithe. She seems alien to him amongst a sea of women with artificial curves and enhanced assets.

Gale is silent, stunned, amazed. _This _is his client? How does a child have so much money? Or did her parents want her to lose her virginity to a celebrity? And he _knows _she is a virgin, there is no way she can't be, standing there in a modest satin robe with fluttery sleeves that stop just above her knees. She looks too delicate and pure to be corrupted. Although, to be fair, Gale has learned in the past year that it's the ones who seem the most normal that are in truth the most perverted.

"Are you—are you all right?" She asks again, brow furrowed, and she seems worried, concerned for _him_. If Gale wasn't caught off guard before, he certainly is now. Usually clients don't bother with such questions, or rather, talking at all, not until his clothes are off and the deed has been done. And even then, the talking is always centered around themselves. Everyone thinks they know him, anyway, so why bother asking?

"I—" Gale falls silent for a moment, struggling to find solid ground. He feels like he's drunk, stumbling into unknown territory. He has no idea to handle this situation, so he grasps at straws and decides to handle her like she was any other client. "I'm fine. Thank you. Shall we get started?"

He doesn't give time to answer before he stalks towards her, and she says nothing, looks at him with wide eyes as he makes his way across the room. Gale wonders if she can hear how his heart is thundering in his chest with uncertainty.

At her side, he reaches out, bold, and circles his arm around her waist, gripping her hip intimately. He leans into the side of her face, his breath caressing her cheek as he purrs into her ear, "What will you have me do, my lady?"

And Hell's teeth, he feels _sick _every time he has to utter those words to customers, but that was what Finnick taught him and he knows that they like feeling in control, they like holding the reins to his body. And yet… He can't help but feel as though _he _is the perverted one. She does not seem as though she is corrupted; Gale can't believe that this girl actually has to _pay _for sex. And yet she lives in the heart of Hell—The Capitol. How untarnished is she, truly? _I guess I'll find out_, Gale thinks to himself as her hands reach out—

- And push him away. Not terribly hard, but it is enough where Gale steps back, instinctively. His District 12 upbringing is rearing his head. A lady says no, and you step away. "I—" She is clearly flustered, a wonderful sheen of pink dusting the apples of her cheeks. Gale hasn't seen someone blush naturally in so long and its mesmerizing. "I'm sorry. I suppose I should have made it clear sooner. I don't—I don't intend for anything to happen tonight. Nothing sexual, anyway."

Gale frowns. "Then… what do you want me to do? What are you going to do with me?"

She licks her lips, a little nervously, and Gale is entranced for a moment. But then his eyes dart back up to hers quickly, guiltily. She looks amused, briefly. "I'm not sure," she admits. "Whatever you like, really… as long as we stay in this room. Even if nothing happens, you have a reputation to maintain. But—there are things we can do in here." She gestures to the bookshelves. "I see you've already found my book collection. And, there's a living area where we can watch TV. I can have food brought here. Are you hungry?"

Gale wonders if he's in an alternate universe, if the girl in front of him is real, if this is only a hallucination brought on by morphling or if perhaps his own sanity has finally slipped from his grasp. When was the last time a naturally beautiful girl _asked_ him what he wanted to do instead of ordering it?

"I'm—" Gale shakes his head, his head feeling fuzzy. Nothing makes sense. "No, no, thank you. I'm fine. I—can we sit down?"

The girl nods understandingly. "Of course." She hesitates for a minute, and then, seeing his dazed look, gently grabs his arm and leads him to the couch. He looks up at her helplessly as she places her hands on his shoulders and sits him down on the couch gently.

She sits down next to him, but far enough away where they don't touch. She tucks her feet underneath her and watches him anxiously, as if afraid that he'll bolt any minute now.

For a moment, they just sit, and Gale stares out the glass windows that line the rounded corner of her room. It begins to rain and he watches droplets slide down the panes of glass. He clears his throat uncertainly. "So, let me get this straight," he says, and is surprised by how steady his voice sounds, "I'm not here for sex?"

The girl nods resolutely. "That's correct."

Gale blinks, completely confused, and looks straight into her eyes. "Then—why did you want me?"

Perhaps he's just imagining it, but her eyes look sad, almost heartbroken. "Surely you know that you have more value than just… a person to—"

"To what?" Gale interrupts harshly. "To _fuck_?"

She flinches, and Gale immediately feels guilty. It certainly isn't her fault that his life is the way it is. "Shit, I'm sorry," he begins, but she cuts him off.

"_No_, you are _not _just a person to _fuck_." She straightens up, and Gale looks at her in amazement. Clearly he was wrong about her being some delicate little Capitol girl. "For a long time, I hadn't any idea what you really did with all of those people you're seen gallivanting with all of the time. Once I learned the truth I figured that maybe you would want a night off. Not have to deal with—" here she blushes "_performing_ every night and being at the sexual whims of a stranger."

_Who is this girl? _Gale thinks to himself dazedly. Fleeting, he thinks she might be an angel, but the more he thinks about it, the more accurate it seems: she is an angel who is here to grant him temporarily leave from the Hell he cannot escape from. And yet, her explanation does nothing but rile his curiosity even more. "Where did you get all that money? I'm not—I'm not exactly cheap." A cheap whore? Certainly not. But an expensive one? President Snow made sure of that.

She blushes with embarrassment again. "As you can see from our surroundings," her hand makes a small sweeping motion, indicating the room, "I am fairly well off. Getting the money… wasn't a problem."

Gale's eyebrows raise. "Rich husband?" He blurts, and then he can't _believe _he used that old trick on her. Besides, it doesn't matter. Bored wives offered for him all of the time—sometimes, the husband would join in, too, if they're into that kind of thing.

The girl gives a little smirk, and Gale realizes she's seen right through him. She's innocent, but sharp. Gale thinks that it's a dangerous combination, in more ways than one. "No," she says, and it's with a self-deprecating smile with which she says, "Rich daddy."

Gale nods. "And he knows you're doing this?"

The girl bites her lip. "It's one of those, don't ask, don't tell policies," she says, "So I'm sure he knows, but he won't ask me about it. He's not around a lot… so he just gives me money and doesn't really care how I spend it." She looks at him. "But I know that your… employer knows you're with me. And I know you have a reputation to maintain. So I won't say anything. To anyone. And I highly doubt you would either."

Gale shakes his head vehemently. "Of course not."

And then she smiles at him, and maybe it's raining, but looking at her makes Gale feel like the sun has come out. She shines. "Excellent!" She claps her hands together. "What do you want to do?"

Gale grins. Her enthusiasm is almost contagious. "I want to know your name."

Unexpectedly, she blinks and fidgets, looking a little surprised he's even asked. But he wants to know who his savior is—and perhaps, do some research on her a little later on. She gives him a little half-smile and says, "You can call me Madge."

Gale's eyes narrow, because he knows there's a difference between what a person's name is versus what they are _called _(and he thinks of Catnip—_Katniss _and his heart tugs a little bit with nostalgia, but he pushes that down quickly. Memories of District 12 are precious things, and only to be used in the most dire of circumstances.) "Do you have a last name, Madge?"

Again, she smirks. "I do," she says, "but I don't think I'll share that just yet. I want to have _some_ preservation of mystery."

Gale shakes his head, but he's smiling. The whole night thus far has been a mystery. "Believe me, you've got that covered."

Madge smiles at him, and Hell's teeth, he hasn't seen a sweeter smile in months. She glances at the clock. "How long have we been here?" She asks without looking at him. "An hour? Is that sufficient enough time to order room service?"

Gale blinks. "What?"

Madge looks back at him and raises an eyebrow. "Is an hour enough time to have sex? Because I'm hungry and it would look pretty strange if I ordered food when I'm supposed to be in the middle of a sexual encounter."

Gale shrugs. It depends on the client. Some come in five minutes, others want him to keep going for hours. And he may be young, but he's in his prime and has the stamina to keep going for as long as his client wants.

He looks at Madge and lets his mind wander into dangerous territories. How long would sex take between him and Madge? His gaze trails down her body leisurely. It would be her first time. He would want to make sure that she would enjoy it—he'd make love to her slowly, let her get acclimated to him and to them, and when she was ready and they were both sure—

Gale flushes when he realizes that Madge has caught him ogling her. Her body is still, and he can tell that she may seem relaxed but he can see the lines of tension in the graceful slope of her shoulders. Gale takes his punishment like a man and raises his eyes to hers—her face is calm but her eyes hold a bit of fire, and he realizes with a start that his attentions aren't exactly unwanted.

His body starts to warm and Gale fights it off. Sex or not, Madge is his client and she calls the shots. He cannot pursue her like a regular man, and that anger burns within him for a moment before it cools away. Gale and Anger are old friends but very quickly Gale learned that being angry all of the time just drained him and made him only feel that much more empty once those feelings died away.

_"Anger is good, Gale," Finnick told him once after Gale raged and ranted at him for the umpteenth time about the injustices of the Capitol and their situation. "It keeps you focused and your spirit intact, but you can't let it consume you. It'll just make you go crazy sooner." _

Once Gale has calmed himself down, he reminds himself that if Madge wants him, then he will gladly treat her like she deserves. But if not, he needs to let it go. If there's one thing that Gale has learned throughout the past two years, it's when to pick your battles.

So instead of pouncing on her like he really wants, Gale clears his throat and asks calmly, "I think an hour is fine. You can call if you want."

And he sees Madge swallow and eye him carefully, but she answers, her voice chipper enough, "Great! Any preferences?"

Gale doesn't care, really but Madge has a menu of what the chef has prepared that day, and insists that they choose together. They end up picking a little bit of everything before she picks up the sleek, white phone and orders.

When they hear the bell ring a few minutes later, Gale realizes that they need to pretend they've been having sex this whole time. He crosses over to Madge quickly and, without thinking, rakes his hands through her perfectly curled hair, mussing it into bedhead waves. He unties her robe and shoves it off of her shoulders. He gulps when he sees her silk night gown underneath, but continues on. Catching on quickly, but breathing labored, Madge yanks his shirt from his pants and begins to unbutton it. Her fingers play with his hair until it looks artfully messy. They look at each other. It would be ideal if her lips were swollen, but kissing her right now is out of the question. They both flush as they take in the other person, though, half naked and wanting, until Madge goes to answer the door.

It's a regular man servant, wheeling in gold china with delicacies piled high. Gale realizes the charade must go on and pulls Madge to him as the servant sets up their meal for them on the table by the couches, just as Madge instructed. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her back to his chest. He smooths her hair out of the way and can't help it—he presses a kiss on the side of her neck, right at her pulse point. He smirks as he realizes it's racing.

Madge shoots him a glare but giggles anyway for the benefit of the man servant.

It's dangerous holding her like this, Gale thinks to himself. She feels too good to be real and she's so normal and sweet and beautiful and Gale isn't used to this sort of normalcy, this peace.

The two stand together, watching the man servant. Gale holds her close and will periodically drop another kiss on her neck, or tickle her sides gently, and she obliges and Gale knows, he _knows _she likes it, too. She has to. He can't be the only one feeling this way.

Eventually the servant leaves and gives them a lingering look that Gale files away to analyze later, and only when he shuts the door do the two lingeringly pull apart.

They eat in a silence that isn't necessarily tense, but vaguely uncomfortable. It's a habit, but Gale always thinks of his family when he eats. He hopes they're doing well, that Katniss is taking care of them, that the money he sends home every week is helping. He misses hunting and foraging for his own food- it makes him feel independent. Here in the Capitol he is beholden to everyone and everything in order to survive and he abhors it. Feeling helpless hasn't gotten easier for Gale.

Eventually, Madge gets out some champagne, and Gale doesn't know if that's the greatest idea in the world, but he takes the glass she hands him and drinks it. It works in loosening them both up, though, and soon enough they're talking again. Madge asks about him, staying on neutral topics, on hobbies and Finnick and about his Victory Tour, and Gale gladly answers her, although he's never liked talking so much before. Finnick did always say that he talked more when he was inebriated. But right now, he feels a different kind of buzz, one not alcohol induced, but rather something else. He asks Madge about a book she's reading and she's off with an enthusiastic lecture, hands waving gaily and Gale thinks to himself that if Madge was a type of alcohol she would be a dandelion wine—sweet and natural.

They talk more for a few hours, and Madge implores Gale to read this book and that. He laughingly assures her he will, and she is content. She orders hot chocolate for them both but grabs the mugs at the door, not letting the servant come in, so Gale doesn't need to hold her again. Which, he thinks, is probably a good idea, but his arms and his body don't agree with his mind. Gale orders his body to control himself. It's amazing how out of control, how out of his element, he feels. And yet… it's so tempting just, for once, to simply let go…

Once they run out of conversation, they find an old movie on TV to watch. Madge gets a large, fleece blanket for them to share. At the beginning of the movie they start out comfortably apart, their knees barely touching, but eventually, by the end, Gale's arm is on the back of the couch and Madge is nestled cozily into his side. It reminds Gale of what a normal date should be like and it scares the hell out of him. He's never had anything that's been real before.

As the end credits roll, Madge and Gale are long asleep, the sound of the rain hitting the metal roof lulls them to sleep. Gale awakens to his phone alarm sometime later, his signal to himself that his obligatory stay is finally over. And yet tonight doesn't feel like a "finally" kind of night. He wishes it would never end.

It's still dark when he leaves her, and it is one of the most difficult things Gale has ever had to do—and that's saying something, coming from him. Her once cold and spacious room is now something of a sanctuary to him, and she his temporary savior. Not wanting to leave her on the couch, he scoops her up into his arms, blanket and all, and pads over to the bed. He lays her down gently, and, on impulse, kisses her forehead. It's so tempting to climb in beside her, but she only booked him for the night, not 24 hours, and President Snow is very clear on those boundaries. He begins to pull away, but she clutches him tighter, and even if he's sure she's completely asleep, the gesture makes his heart hurt nonetheless. Because if there's one thing he's learned about Madge that evening, it's that she is just as lonely and lost as he is. And lord if he doesn't want to make her feel the opposite of loneliness. But he has another life to get back to, so he gently pries her hand away from him and tucks her into bed. He gathers his things and leaves, where he knows a black, sleek car with black windows will take him back to his lonely penthouse suite.

After her, going back to his regular clients is even more torturous. It's hard to endure when he knows, when he has experienced such goodness again. He can't get his hopes up; every time he did that it was as though things got worse for him. It's always better to expect the worst.

In the next couple of weeks, Gale becomes more and more convinced that that night was just a fluke, a lovely dream, but not something real, not something that someone like him deserved. The fact that he can't find any information on anyone named Madge only makes him more depressed.

At this point, he doesn't think he'll ever see her again; after all, she made no plans or promises. She is just another beautiful, perfect memory to add to his dwindling collection. Regardless, he would treasure their night and if he saw her again…

Even Finnick remarks upon Gale's even more "cranky and surly demeanor" but Gale just tells him to fuck off. "What did that client _do_ to you, Hawthorne?" Finnick asks one morning, leisurely munching on an apple, even as he applies salve to his latest burns. Finnick's clients tend to enjoy hurting him more than pleasuring him.

Gale just shakes his head. "I can't decide if what she did makes things better for me or worse," he answers honestly, and that worries Finnick even more.

"We still having boys' night tonight?" Finnick asks quickly, hoping to get Gale's mind off of his mystery client. "We both have nights off tonight, right?"

Gale nods. It's rare that he and Finnick are both in the same district and have the same night off. "That sounds good. Movie, beer, and pizza?"

Finnick grins. "What else?"

It's at that moment, however, that a knock comes at the door. A Capitol servant, one of President Snow's hand-picked messengers, is at the door. "Request from President Snow, sir," the man says, bowing politely.

"Thanks," Gale says. "You can confirm to him that I've received the message."

"Very good, sir," replies the messenger and is off.

Gale opens up the envelope. It's a request that Gale "works" tonight. He will be picked up at 8 PM by a black vehicle. Don't be late.

Finnick is incredibly disappointed that Gale has orders that night, but Gale merely raises an eyebrow at him, trying to conceal his own grin. "Youl'l be fine without me tonight. Go phone chat with mystery girl," he quips as Finnick's jaw drops.

"What—what girl?" He sputters.

"I'm not an idiot, Odair. There's," and here Gale lowers his voice, knowing the Capitol could be listening at any time, "a _girl _that you're besotted with and I know that's to whom you send those secret messages. Go enjoy _her _company. You'll be fine."

Finnick blinks, stunned for a moment, but only a moment. His grin is back and he winks at Gale. "What a friend," he coos to Gale's back as he goes to change. With his back to Finnick, he can finally smile.

_Madge is waiting for him. _

When the black car pulls up at the curb at 8 PM, Gale opens the door eagerly. He slides in without looking, expecting cool leather exterior and a divided back set and front seat. What he doesn't expect is a passenger to join him: adorned in a long, flowing white evening gown and hair curled delicately, is Madge.

"Hello," she says shyly, as though he might protest her presence.

"Why, hello there," he says lowly, his deep voice rumbling through his chest with nervousness. His mouth is dry, but he looks at her and a genuine smile breaks out over his face, which she returns radiantly. "Pretty dress."

"Thank you," she murmurs as he buckles himself in and the car speeds away. "Do you really like it?"

"I love it," he tells her honestly. "So, what do you have planned on the agenda tonight?"

There's a twinkle in her eyes as she answers him, "Whatever you like."


	2. An Interlude: The 72nd Hunger Games

**The Spoils of the Victor**

**An Interlude: The 72nd Hunger Games**

When Gale Hawthorne was reaped for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games, no one expected him to win. He was barely fifteen, still significantly underfed, and, because of his recent growth spurt, was all arms and legs. Gale still remembers the mute horror, the shock of when his name was trilled from Effie Trinket's lips and modified into the stillness of the crowd.

When his name was called, there was a faint roaring in his ears. Everything became muted: the screams of his siblings, the cries of his friends, the shrill callings of Effie Trinket's voice. To Gale, everything else faded away and all he could see in his mind's eye was the image of his deceased father, standing straight and tall, his slate gray eyes determined and narrowed in his dusty, coal-lined face. Gale saw his figure on the stage, nodding once at him with finality, prompting Gale to act with dignity. Gale knew it's how his father would have wanted him to react.

_All they want is a show_, Gale thought to himself as he climbed the stairs, his eyes dry and back straight. Gale wouldn't bend to them. He looked out into the crowd, ignoring how Effie swooned over his dark good looks. His eyes found his mother's, first: her eyes were red-rimmed but she wouldn't cry, either. Her gaze was on Gale but her hands were on his siblings, smoothing the hair of Rory and Vick, who were sobbing. As always, his mother remained strong for the family. Posy was standing next to her, only two years old, too young to understand the horror of this day. She looked at him, wide-eyed, confused as to why her eldest brother, her only father figure, was standing on that stage.

Next, Gale's eyes found Katniss. Her eyes were dark and angry, her lips pinched together, and Gale knew her fists are clenched at her sides. He knew she wished that she had her bow and arrow so she could shoot down the Peacekeepers and Capitol officials and they could run away… she would never leave Prim and he would never leave his family, but he knew that, nevertheless, this was a secret fantasy of hers. He knew her better than she knew herself.

He wished that he could have had the chance to marry her. But it wasn't meant to be, he thought wistfully as Effie announced the girl's name and he fleetingly prayed that it wasn't her...

"Acacia Wilder."

Gale winced. Acacia was his age, and there was no way she'd make it far in the Games. She might have been from the Seam, but she was as lovely and delicate as any Town girl. Her hair was dark, but her skin was fair. She always reminded Gale of a fawn because her eyes were so large and dark, innocent and wondering.

To her credit, however, she too came up on the stage with a solemn grace. Her eyes were dry but Gale could hear her two younger sisters wailing her name.

Despite the stench and the stumbling of his feet as he stood up and shook Gale's hand, Haymitch Abernathy looked at Gale far too shrewdly for a man who was supposedly off-his-ass drunk. Gale didn't say anything but instead filed that look away as he is led off stage and into the waiting room where his family came and said goodbye to him.

Rory and Vick, in typical fashion, elbowed each other as they raced to see who could get to Gale first. He opened his arms, instinctively, and they both rushed in, crying anew. Gale bent down and held them, and dammit, he could feel himself tearing up.

"Hey, it will be okay," Gale soothed them. "Even if I don't come back, it will be okay." Except it wouldn't be. Who would provide for them when he was gone? Katniss was still so little; Gale wouldn't expect her to help them out too much. If he had gotten reaped when they were both a little older, then maybe…

He held them out at arms length, and he hated himself for passing the burden onto them. He worked so hard for the past year to make sure that they could retain the innocence that he could not, but the odds never seemed to be in the Hawthorne's favor, anyway. "Listen to me, you two," he told them seriously. "With me gone, you two will be the men in the house. Mind Mom; don't fight with each other, or Posy. Do well in school. Make—make friends with Katniss. Maybe when you're older, she can teach you two some things, okay? But for now—just be good. And," here Gale swallowed down the grief. "I love you both. Very much. So much."

And he could see it, could see the transformation in their eyes, he could see that this was a defining moment for both of them, and he marveled and hated it at the same time. He was already in mourning—for their innocence, for himself.

He looked up and caught the gaze of his mother. He stood up, and gently pushed Rory and Vick away. This time, it was his turn to be comforted. His mother opened up her arms and he went to her.

They clutched each other, and Gale could feel his mother's desperation pour over him in waves. "My boy," she murmured to him, smoothing his hair as he gasps for air. "My strong, wonderful boy. You've done well, Gale. You have made me and your father very proud." She held back, framed his face with her hands. "You have become everything I could have hoped for and I love you very much."

"I love you, too," Gale gasped. He turned, picked Posy up on the ground, and held her tight.

She giggled in his ear and Gale was so thankful that she was happy and safe and sound and had no idea that she was saying goodbye to her eldest brother, sending him off to his death. "I love you, Pose," he told her, kissing her hair.

"Love you, Gale," she gurgled happily. Gale put her in the arms of Hazelle, who was openly crying now. He gave them each another hug, and then the Peacekeeper escorted them out.

Gale expected to see no one else, but a small, dark haired blur raced into his room. It was Katniss. Scrawny, lithe Katniss Everdeen. "Gale!" She yelled, racing to him, and jumping into his arms.

"Hey, Catnip," Gale choked out, feeling as though he'd drown under these waves of emotion.

"I hate them, Gale," Katniss had enough sense to whisper this, at least. "I hate them for taking you from me."

"I do, too, Catnip," Gale said, but he could not muster enough fire to really mean it. "But the odds were never in our favor, anyway."

Katniss pulled away from him and looked frantically into his eyes. "I'll make sure they're fed, Gale," Katniss tells him. "Your family. You don't have to worry, okay? You've taught me a lot this year, and my snares are getting better—you said it yourself last week! And I can shoot. I can always shoot."

That was true. Katniss was gifted, a true natural—she was just recently consistently hitting birds and other prey right through the eye. Of course, she wasn't satisfied unless it was the pupil, but that was Katniss.

"Thank you," Gale breathed. Even if he was wary that she'd be able to keep both families adequately fed, hearing her promise it aloud filled him with some sense of relief. He and Katniss were cut from the same cloth; they would find a way to survive. They were resourceful, innovative, and quick. His family was in good hands with her.

"Katniss, I—" Gale swallowed once, steeled his already failing nerves. He pulled her to him, held her face in his hands, and kissed her, quickly, desperately.

It was only for an instant; he did not give the shocked girl any time to respond, and by the time he pulled away the Peacekeepers were already opening the door. "I had to do that," he whispered to her, a little bit brokenly, "at least once."

Her face wa still confused, completely flabbergasted, so she let the Peacekeepers take her by the arm and limply lead her out the door. Gale swallowed with fear, but at least he could die truly knowing he had no regrets.

0 0 0

The train ride was uneventful, not worth remembering. Acacia was quiet, Haymitch drunk, Effie fluttering, Gale surly.

The Capitol was truly a sight to behold, but Gale was left feeling unimpressed and cold. The glittering city could not conceal the toxicity that lay oozing underneath.

Gale doesn't remember much of the opening ceremonies and is fairly sure that his costume was something uninspired and dull. During mentoring sessions, Haymitch, a Seam kid himself, gave Gale half-hearted tips about survival methods and strategy. Gale listened to him, was frusterated with his lack of sobriety but he wouldn't give up just yet. It was time to stop acting like he was already dead. He wouldn't give the Capitol a show, but he also wouldn't just hand his dead body over to them.

In the training arena, he and Acacia ignored each other. Rather, they ignored each other in general. She was a smart girl, but Gale didn't have much hope for her, and thought it best not to form attachments that wouldn't last. Wandering around the Training Center, Gale knew that combat stations would essentially be useless to him- the Careers would beat him in a second at any sort of weaponry. The only station in that area he benefited from was the hand-to-hand combat. The trainer was actually enthusiastic to teach him; most Tributes, including the Careers, tended towards weapons, finding martial arts a waste of time, but Gale knew better. Take away those weapons and all the Careers were was hulking, clumsy mass.

Eventually, Gale would wander over to plant identification, just to see if there was anything obscure he should know about—there was. He went to the knots and snares table but acted like a complete novice while all the time looking at the trainers' cheat sheet to see if he could do the more complicated ones—he could. Water purification was actually very useful and Gale learned a lot. Eventually he made his way towards the archery section. He picked up a bow and arrow. It was made of a different wood than the makeshift ones he and Katniss made, but it was sleek, lighter. Gale adjusted his stance accordingly and pulled back the bow and arrow. He aimed for the eye of the training dummy.

Aware that the Career's were looking at him, Gale decided to hell with it, and released. It hit the cheek.

Gale refused to show any emotion. Inwardly, he was a little frustrated and amused. Frustrated because he wanted, stupidly, to impress them, and amused because he knew that Katniss would roll her eyes at him if she were there. Gale picked up another arrow and aimed for what he was good at getting, anyway: the heart.

The Careers were still snickering a little over his failed attempt, but fell silent when Gale hit the heart dead on. He turned and walked away without another word.

0 0 0

His interview was unremarkable. Gale was handsome, completely "camera ready" according to his Prep team, and was cordial enough to Caesar, who Gale actually _liked_, despite of everything he stood for, but there were older, more glamorous contestants out there who the Capitol fell for more.

But it was Acacia who shone. She was as beautiful as Gale was handsome, and she was the perfect mix of coquette and innocent. She was charming, gracious, and yet so dignified that Gale could not find any fault in her. She charmed Caesar and the Capitol and Gale was sure she won herself some sponsors.

But he was chilled to the bone when she came up to him after her interview, her eyes large and solemn and said, "I got you some sponsors, so don't waste it" before walking off as if nothing had happened.

In the arena she was the first one killed.

The arena was set in the icy cold mountains, twenty-four children dressed in bulky parkas and snow boots. They were positioned high on a mountaintop, ideal for quick killings. The last Hunger Games was too drawn out and slow, so the Gamemakers opted to create an arena where it would get very bloody very quickly. Plus, the imagery of deep red blood on the stark white snow was too striking to resist.

The cornucopia in the middle looked like a glittering, silver tree adorned with ornaments. On the bottom were all of the weapons and packs, placed delicately like presents. The platforms were placed a few feet away from the edge of a ledge where it was easy for people to push each other off of the edge. There was only one way off, and luckily for Gale, his platform was in front of that path, which he promptly ran for, packs and weapons be damned, once the timer went off. Acacia, however, wasn't so lucky.

In the re-caps Gale knows the Capitol played it off that Acacia was pushed off of the ledge by a girl from District One, but Gale has re-played the clip enough times in the past two years to realize that Acacia jumped off right as the girl reached her. The Capitol doesn't like to acknowledge suicides, ones in the Games or otherwise.

From there, while the carnage raged on behind him, Gale cursed to himself as he ran frantically. Because of the snow, his footprints would be easy to track unless there was a snowstorm. Nevertheless, Gale kept pushing on. Luckily for him, the Gamemakers must have gotten bored easily because it immediately started snowing. He passed a lot of caves, but Gale knew that if he stopped in one, others would come looking for shelter as well, and he was too tired for a physical fight.

Instead, Gale remembered what he learned in the survival station. He used the packed snowdrift and built himself a cave. It took a while, and it was a risky maneuver, but he didn't hear anyone following him. His tracks had been completely covered by that point, and he kept hearing cannons boom in the distance—the bloodshed at the Cornucopia was still ensuing, evidently.

Once the cave had been properly built, with proper venting, did Gale finally allow himself to relax. It was cold as hell, but it was better than the alternative. Gale was too afraid to go to sleep, though, and wasn't sure if he would be able to wake up due to the freezing temperatures. The clothing he was wearing though did well to keep him warm, but Gale was exhausted and damp from digging in the snow. Despite his best efforts, Gale found himself falling asleep.

_Falling asleep isn't such a bad way to die,_ he thought blearily to himself as he drifted off. Not five minutes later, however, he heard a shrill whistle. Making his way to the small air vent, Gale squinted and saw a parachute—with a medium sized package attached. Cautiously, Gale crept out of the shelter and darted forward, seizing the package and then coming back into the cave quickly. He tore open the package, and inside was a large pot of steaming beef stew and a large, fluffy blanket.

_Bright idea, kid_ was all the note read and Gale smirked to himself. "Thanks, Haymitch," he said as he grabbed the spoon, and took one hearty bite. He sighed in happiness and had to restrain himself from gobbling it down—he didn't want to get sick and waste it. Instead, he forced himself to chew slowly and savor every bite. The pot was big, so Gale only ended up eating half. He wrapped the blanket around him and over his head to conserve warmth and peeked outside when the Capitol anthem started to play.

Ten were dead already—almost half. No wonder the Gamemakers decided to induce the snowstorm; they didn't want him and the others to be found so that the Games wouldn't be over so quickly.

Although Gale was tempted to just stay in the cave for the remainder of the Games, he wanted to survey the land more and see how he could use it to his advantage. In the morning, Gale cautiously left his snow cave, carrying the stew and blanket with him. His next goal was to obtain weapons, ideally some cord. Gale wanted to make some snares. It seemed the odd were in Gale's favor: he found a few abandoned packs next to some fresh looking body outlines. The hovercrafts must have picked them up in the middle of the night but left the packs. Gale looked around quickly before emptying the two backpacks. Some small knives, canteens, blankets, and—cords.

Frantically, Gale divided the long cord up with his knife and set to gather up some sticks to use as trigger mechanisms. He set the snares up anywhere he could think of—at the entrance of caves (ones that he knows beforehand are empty); at the base of the mountain; in various areas of the forest that surrounds the base; and at edges of a nearby stream. Gale could kill if he wanted to but would prefer that others do the job for him. He figured that if people were trapped in the snares, their allies or others who stumbled upon them would do the job for him.

The day after Gale set the snares he found a freshly killed boy from seven who was caught in one of them. It looked like he had been running from someone and the snare tripped him up, slowed him down to the point where he was easy prey. Gale shuddered, then stopped as he heard footsteps bounding towards him.

Immediately Gale began to run and only ran faster when he heard the two pairs of footsteps running as well. He glanced back over his shoulder: Career boys, from two and three. They had swords, knives, and a spear and they were hurling whatever they could at him.

Gale zigzagged left to right to throw their aim off and to avoid his own snares. Luckily, both boys got caught in his traps and went down easily. With their weapons they were able to cut themselves free but by that time Gale was long gone. He made sure to go in circles so his footprints wouldn't lead the Careers back to his snow cave.

Gale didn't enter the forest for the next two days. He did hunt some, but that was on the mountain, and was able to build his trench where the fire wouldn't melt the packed snow. Gale didn't run into the remaining tributes, who slowly dwindled in number each day. By day five there were only six of them left.

It was when Gale heard the howling that he realized that the Gamemakers wanted the Games to end. Gale slung on his pack and began to hike up the mountain. He was glad that he realized the intentions of the Game makers early; he heard the echoes of screams behind him—others tried to hide but Gale knew that they would always find you, no matter how hard you tried to be invisible.

Two cannons went off, but Gale didn't pause to see whose faces would flash in the sky. They were all the same to him, anyway. He hadn't bothered with allies and he was too forgettable to be considered an enemy or a threat by the Careers.

Gale wished he had more time to set up snares along the way, but the snarling that was getting louder and louder behind him made the decision for him. Once he reached the ledge where the Cornucopia was, it started to sink in that it was truly the ending. The next few hours would decide his fate.

Luckily, the mutts did not follow him to the ledge—there were three other tributes to contend with. Gale saw that there were a few more abandoned items left under the Cornucopia and decided to investigate—all he had on him was some cord and a few knives. To his luck, there was a slightly bent bow and a quiver of arrows. Someone must have tried the bow and clearly misused it. No one else must have wanted it because of its shape. Gale played with it a little. The wood was pliable enough where Gale bent it back into shape. It was mostly perfect. It was enough. It would do.

He pulled out a bow and pulled it back, aiming it at the pathway, tense and waiting for the next tribute to come by. A boy stumbled through and Gale didn't hesitate; he shot the arrow at him. He was hunched over, out of breath, thinking he was safe and the first one there. Gale's arrow hit him between the eyes, in the forehead. He was dead instantly.

It was Gale's first kill and he almost gagged at the thought of it, but the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins as the cannon boomed. Two girls came sprinting through the clearing and his fingers twitched as he released the arrow. It missed them as they wrestled together, but at the whirl of his arrow they stopped still. Gale recognized them; they were from one and two. They were skilled with knives and other weapons, but it was clear to Gale that they didn't have any. He guessed that they used them to kill the mutts behind them. They looked at him for a moment, clearly surprised: they must have forgotten all about him.

"If it isn't the District 12 brat," the girl from two taunted at him. She was an amazon of a girl: seventeen, tall, and all muscle. The girl from one, in contrast, was smaller but no less deadly. "Shall we kill him together, Glow?"

"Let's," Glow murmured with a wicked smile. The two girls advanced on him and Gale knew that with the ledge at his back he was at the disadvantage. He drew another arrow—his last, and drew it back, switching his aim from one to the other. The girl from two would be harder to take down, but she would expect it coming. He would just have to take the chance…

They both pounced at the same time. Gale let loose the arrow and it managed to penetrate itself deep into the thigh of the girl from two. She let out a howl and fell to the ground. She left the arrow lodged in as she tried to crawl her way to Gale.

The girl from one had her arms wrapped around his neck and was trying to choke him out. What she didn't think about, however, were his legs. Gale bent his legs from out under hers and flattened his feet. He shoved into her abdomen and flung her off of him. He propelled her so far that she landed on the edge of the ledge. She tried frantically to claw her way back onto the ledge but she couldn't grasp onto the powdery snow and she fell to her death.

_One down, one to _go, Gale thought fleetingly as the District Two girl stood up shakily, her weight on her good leg. She charged at him, head down, but Gale was smaller than her, so he swerved to the left, quickly, and yanked at the arrow in her thigh. It ripped out of her, blood spurting as she roared in agony. He reared his arm back as she collapsed on the ground and speared the tip of the arrow into her chest, right over her heart.

The blood spurted on his face and Gale had never felt weaker in his life, but he kept stabbing while the girl convulsed, the hate and fear still engrained in the lines of her face even as her life drained away.

Only when the cannon boomed did Gale stop stabbing.

He stumbled to the side of the ledge and contemplated jumping himself, but instead he vomited and continued to do so as Seneca Crane's voice declared him the Victor of the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!

To Gale, winning wasn't so great when all he wanted to do at that moment was die.

0 0 0

At the center of the Capitol in a large room with pale purple walls, Madge Undersee watched Gale Hawthorne become Victor. She took in the tortured expression on his face as he continued to dry heave even as the hovercraft took him to safety. She turned to her father, who was sitting next to her, and said simply, "We need him."

Her father narrowed his eyes in contemplation, but after a moment, nodded in agreement. He picked up the phone and dialed.

Madge waited.


	3. Chapter Two

**The Spoils of the Victor**

**Chapter Two**

In the upcoming weeks until Gale has to return to District Twelve for Reaping Day, Gale is almost certain that he is about to go crazy, but thanks to Madge and to Finnick, he manages not to.

His days, thankfully, are his own, and both he and Finnick have fewer customers in the upcoming weeks. President Snow makes sure that only the more conventional customers have access to the Duo. He doesn't want his Mentors looking too ragged for Reaping Day—there's only so much prep teams can do to cover up the sadistic remnants of the nights before.

He and Finnick spend their days mostly together, hanging out in one of the penthouses and watching TV or just relaxing. They prefer to seclude themselves—there's nothing in the Capitol that entices them. Truth be told they would rather be alone, but each knows that's when their demons come out: it's better to be with someone who understands than to be left alone with your own thoughts.

Finnick is insatiably curious about Madge and Gale, slightly cautiously at first, tells him about her, which isn't much. Blonde, blue-eyed, nearly seventeen. Sweet, but feisty. Avid reader and piano player. Has an incredibly rich and powerful father, and here Finnick's eyes narrow thoughtfully in concentration.

"What's Madge's last name, Gale?" Finnick wants to know.

Gale shrugs. "She won't tell me," he admits, and both know that it bothers him.

Finnick furrows his brow for a moment. He has a sinking feeling in his gut that tells him that he knows who this girl really is, but he wants to do some more research first before anything is confirmed. Jumping to conclusions has never helped anybody. So instead of blurting out his hunches, he decides to gather more intel.

"Do you know when you'll see her again?" He asks.

Gale shakes his head. "We don't make any promises," he says, and Finnick knows that this is bothering his friend, too.

Before Finnick can glean any more information about Gale's mystery girl, the tables are turned. "So," Gale says casually as he chomps on a celery stick. "what about _your _girl, Finn? The one you talk to almost every night?"

Finnick scowls at him for bringing it up, especially in a place where the Capitol could hear them, but Gale rolls his eyes. "We're in the _bathroom_, Finn," Gale reminds him. Gale's leaned up against the side of the tub, Finnick the side of the cabinets, and the two are munching on snacks. They go to the bathroom whenever they want to talk because it's the only place in the penthouse the Capitol doesn't have cameras and recording devices set up.

"Still," Finnick snarks. "You just never know."

Gale peers at him thoughtfully. "She must be someone really special," he concludes. "If you're this paranoid about the Capitol finding out, she must be someone already on their radar. Someone they already have some control over."

Finnick freezes for a fraction of a moment, and Gale knows he's right. But still he says, "Come on, Hawthorne, it's _me _that I'm worried about. You know what Snow would do to me if he found out I became attached do anyone. Did you ever think about that?"

Gale laughs and shakes his head. "Finnick, contrary to popular belief, it's not all about you. And despite the act you try and pull over everyone's eyes, I know you're one of the most selfless people I know. And this girl is important. You want to protect her."

At this, Finnick deflates a little and lets out a sad sigh. "She's all I have left," he mutters, his eyes downcast. "I can't afford to lose her."

Gale's heart twists a little at this admission and he makes a silent promise to Finnick that he'll protect his girl, even if one day Finnick can't.

0 0 0

The next time he sees Madge is a couple days later. Gale's surprised to see her; he and Finnick haven't had clients in a few nights and he was wondering if he'd see her before he left. Therefore, he's pleasantly surprised when he receives the message about a black car picking him up at 8 PM sharp. He hopes she'll be in the back seat waiting for him.

She isn't, sadly, but she is waiting for him at her apartment, dressed in a silky, periwinkle dressing robe and a bright smile on her face. She likes to wear airy clothes, light in both color and material, and Gale thinks it suits her well, although the white ball gown he saw her in earlier made her look more sophisticated and grown up.

They're both pleased to see each other. "I didn't think I'd get time with you," she tells him cheerfully, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. He, still unused to such an innocent gesture, returns it tentatively, but he's smiling all the same as well. "President Snow has you two on lockdown."

Gale's gaze falls, his shoulders tense. "He wants to make sure we're not too… battered for the Hunger Games coverage."

Madge slides her arms from his shoulders to his arms, sighs. "You're not looking forward to going home?" She asks quietly, instinctively sensing that the bitterness in Gale's voice is directed at more than just the Capitol.

Gale hesitates. He and Madge haven't delved into his personal issues—or hers, for that matter—yet. The second night they saw each other, they still kept away from such things. Gale opted for flirting as they shared champagne and strawberries and Madge reciprocated eagerly. They swapped the typical artificial details about themselves—favorite food (his was steak, although he always felt guilty for eating it, while hers was scones with strawberry jam and whipped cream, a guilty pleasure for her as well) or favorite hobby ("I guess it's still hunting," he tells her, "but obviously I don't do that much anymore." Hers, predictably, is piano playing, but she enjoys reading and painting as well.)

They've kept it light for a reason, but perhaps, Gale thinks, it's time to change that.

So he answers her, honestly, "It hasn't been home in a while." Not when the whole district thinks he's a sell-out, the Capitol's whore—it hurts the most because Gale agrees with them.

"I don't think that's true," Madge tells him boldly. "Because I highly doubt you consider the Capitol your home, either."

Gale gives her a sad smirk. "Then I guess I'm homeless," he tells her. "I don't belong there and I don't belong here." Actually, that isn't true, either. He will always belong to District 12, but District 12 doesn't want him anymore. He isn't welcome there.

"Tell me about District 12," Madge says, and there's something in her voice that makes Gale pause for a moment, but since he can't identify it, he brushes it off and starts to tell her about all of the components of his district: the residual properties of coal dust; the despair of the Seam; the divide of the Town; the color of the flowers in the Meadow; the smell of the trees in the forest; the bitter winters; the happy spring; the Hob; the mines; even the Slag Heap was mentioned, and at this Madge raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He tells her about Greasy Sae and her granddaughter; about Cray; about Darius; about Bristel; about Haymitch; about Thom; even mentioning his mother and his siblings; and then, at the end—

"And Katniss—Katniss was my best friend." Here, Madge can sense the shift of his tone, the change in his previously relaxed posture. She slips her hand in his and squeezes lightly in support. "We both lost our fathers in a mining explosion and we met by chance in the woods. Since then, we were hunting partners. Eventually, we became friends. We understood each other. We were so similar in so many ways. And…" here Gale sighs. "When I was younger, I even thought I would marry her one day."

Madge feels a twinge of something unsettling at his words, but her face is open and honest when she asks, "So why didn't you?"

"The Games changed everything. We were too young to think about marriage when I left and when I came back… things weren't the same. We didn't know how to act around each other anymore. We still went hunting and spent time together, but it was different knowing that I had enough money now where I didn't have to do that, yet she still did. And then I was summoned to The Capitol… I didn't realize I wouldn't see her for another year. She thought I would come back to her by the end of the week. But instead... Well, the last time I went home for the Reaping, we didn't speak to each other, but the look on her face when I was on that stage. She thinks I'm nothing. A sell out. Like everyone else, she believes me to be the Capitol's Whore. She doesn't know the whole story." Gale's shoulders are hunched, his fists clenched. He had once thought that life was unfair when he was younger and starving, but knows now that being well fed and older doesn't make life any easier.

"No one knows that Snow is controlling you?" Madge asks quietly.

Gale shakes his head. "Only my family knows. Snow wanted to make sure nothing got out. His reputation, after all, is what's important. Not mine."

"If people knew you at all, they'd know that there was a reason why you were at the Capitol—they couldn't have believed so easily that you would be willing to sell yourself to President Snow for no reason," Madge protests.

Gale shakes his head and gives her a bitter smile. "Of course they did. Madge, the majority of District 12 is filled with starving, destitute families. They readily believe I would sell myself out for a glamorous lifestyle because they know they themselves would in a heartbeat."

The two sit in silence for a moment, reflective and suddenly weary. Gale thinks of the last time he was in District 12; coming home he had been wary of the people's reactions to him, but he had no idea about the hostility he would encounter. Beyond his family, who was bound to secrecy not to disclose the true nature of Gale's arrangement at the Capitol, no one spoke to Gale. Whether it was people from Town or the Seam, they wouldn't make direct eye contact, either, choosing instead to give nasty glares to his general character. Being a Victor, no one outright said anything to him, but they made sure Gale could hear the heated mutterings of "Sell Out" and "Capitol Whore". The people were a combination of jealous and betrayed and Gale couldn't blame them. He knew that if the positions were reversed he would be just as ignorant and just as bitter to the situation.

Haymitch told him to "forget those ignorant fucks" as he took a swig of whiskey. "They're the sheep that blindly believe what they're told, yet believe themselves to be better," Haymitch told him with a disgusted snort. "They don't know what we've seen, Hawthorne. Oh, sure, they _watch _it, from the comfort of their homes, but they don't know our experiences. They don't know the worst part about everything—the aftermath. They think that the life of a Victor is easy, that we get the spoils that we're due; what those shit heads can't comprehend is that they think _we're _the Victors, but the Capitol wins, boy, every time. They are the Victors, and we are the spoils." With his eloquent speech properly given, Haymitch guzzled the rest of the bottle and promptly passed out.

Although the treatment he received from the townspeople was bad, the actual Reaping was much worse. His luck going from bad to worse, both tributes chosen were from the Seam, both from families that Gale knew personally. Despite knowing both couldn't win, and since Haymitch was worthless as usual, Gale threw himself into coaching them even though he knew in his heart that their odds were slim.

He was right; the girl was struck down at the initial bloodbath and the boy soon after.

It tore him up deeply and he had barely any time to recover from it; now that his tributes were finished, Snow put him right back on the market.

He never told anyone, and he doesn't tell Madge now that he spent the remainder of the games crying himself to sleep—at least, he did in the few nights in which he wasn't servicing another salacious Capitol resident.

Gale feels a bit like crying _now_, to be honest. It's no wonder that Finnick and Haymitch are just a tad bit demented; how do they stand this, year after year of watching their tributes die senseless deaths? No wonder Haymitch doesn't care anymore. It's easier to not get attached, to anyone or anything—the only thing one can be sure of in relationships is that inevitably they will end.

The look on his face must say it all because by his side he feels Madge stand up. He looks up at her, eyes rimmed with red but stubbornly, he won't let the moisture fall. She holds out a hand.

"Come," she says to him softly. "I'll take care of you."

Wordlessly, he grasps her hand gently, stands up, lets her lead him to her bed. Like a mother tending to her child, she grasps the hem of his shirt, helps him jerk it over his head. His pants and socks come next, and soon he's standing there in his boxers. His eyes are tired and neither is aroused in the slightest. Madge pushes him gently into bed. He slides his feet in and under her fluffy white comforter. Madge pulls up the sheets and slides her robe off, revealing her simple satin nightgown. She walks to the other side of the bed and climbs in. Gale rolls over on his back to face her and she is above him, leaning on her elbow. They look down at each other for a moment, silent, and she hates the fear and helplessness in his eyes. Her look is tender as she leans down, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.

Gale closes his eyes.

Madge begins to thread her fingers through his hair and massage his scalp. She begins to sing for him, softly and surely. Madge doesn't sound like Katniss—Gale remembers hearing Katniss sing when they were much, much younger and it sounded the way a crystal looked; clear, pure, and luminous. It was a belting, vivacious voice that sounded like it started in her toes and built up throughout her whole body. Madge's isn't like this, but it is wonderful in its own way; it has a peculiar, familiar lilt to it that Gale enjoys immensely. It is sweet and what Madge and Katniss have in common is the way they convey emotion through how they sing.

_"There is freedom within, there is freedom without..."_

She leans down to whisper in his ear, and if he weren't so emotionally drained he would be turned on by the way her lips skirt the shell of his ear: "I have you until 10 AM tomorrow, so just rest." Gale's chest untightens a bit at her words; his alarm will still have to be set, of course, but he doesn't worry about that now. Instead, with Madge's arms around him and her voice in his ear, he drifts off.

_"There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost_

_But you'll never see the end of the road_

_while you're travelling with me..." _

0 0 0

It's 10:07 AM and Madge has just said good-bye to Gale. She doesn't know when she'll see him again—he's incredibly popular and scheduling is very tight with him. She has to either bribe other clients to give him up or pay outrageous sums so Snow will do it for her.

Madge doesn't know Gale that well, admittedly, but even she knows that he slept well last night. She watched him for a while, ran her hands through his hair softly, singing old songs to him. It's hard to imagine that he is only several months older than she. He carries himself like he is so much older, and though he stands tall, there is a weight on his shoulders, a weakening of his spirit and strength. If she can just relieve that burden, just for one night, then perhaps she can sleep easily for one night, as well…

When Gale wakes up, he does so easily, his eyes blinking heavily before widening into full consciousness, his arms stretching above his head like a cat. And when he saw Madge, curled on her side towards him, a wayward curl in her face, peaceful in her sleep a smile alights his face, and he reaches out, like she did to him the night before, and tucks it behind her ear, tracing the curve of her jaw with his first finger. Blinking up at him sleepily, she smiles at him.

He is completely and utterly content.

But such a moment cannot last forever. Eventually the two rise from bed and re-dress. There is something new between them, something shy and almost innocent. Hesitant. Careful glances at each other and bashful smiles are abundant as they prepare for Gale's inevitable parting. Madge walks him to the door and Gale gives her a soft kiss on the cheek, a soft, shy smile, and is gone. No words are spoken, but there doesn't need to be any.

Madge sits down on the edge of her bed, head in her hands. Now that he is gone Madge is more confused than ever. When she first met Gale Hawthorne, she thought that things would progress according to plan and everything would be simple. What she didn't account for is that while Gale was acting as she had planned he would, it was her own reactions that surprised her. She was supposed to be a sympathetic friend, yes, but she was never supposed to—

The knock on her door is rough and loud and insistent. Madge jumps up from her bed, startled. Where are her butlers? Her servants? If someone hostile was out there…

She creeps, to the door, looks at the peep hole.

"Margaret Undersee, I know you're in there! Open the damn door!"

Madge opens up the door to an incredibly irate Finnick Odair.

"You have five minutes," he rages, his chest heaving, the flush of his face as bright as his hair, "to explain to me what the hell you're doing with Gale."

At this, Madge sighs: the jig is up.

0 0 0

**Author's Note: **(Ducks behind a couch) Please don't hate me! I'm sorry I've taken so long to update. I was in Europe for most of June and July studying abroad and now I'm currently in Hawaii visiting relatives. I'm also sorry that this update is rather short—I've wracked my brains and have decided that this is the best cut-off. Don't worry; the next chapter is all planned out and I hope to have it out much sooner than 2 and a half months.

To everyone who has stuck with this story and messaged and reviewed your thoughts and encouragement, I thank you so much! I will try and get better about individually replying to everyone—I usually do that with my stories, but as I explained earlier, my time has not been my own.

I hope you're enjoying this story. Please let me know if you have any suggestions or improvements or whatnot.

Thanks!

M. Elena


	4. An Interlude: Daughter of the Rebellion

**The Spoils of the Victor**

**An Interlude: Daughter of the Rebellion**

For the majority of Panem, the Games was an annual event, something that lasted a mere few weeks out of the entire year. For Margaret "Madge" Undersee, however, the Games are a part of her every day, every waking moment. She lives and breathes every angle, every facet, and every person involved in the Games. Her ambition and drive is something her father calls "relentless"—she prefers to call herself "dedicated". She tells her father that it's a trait that she learned from him, after all.

The Games have been a part of Madge's life for as long as she can remember. Her first memory is when she's five years old. It's late and she can't sleep, so she wanders downstairs to hear her parents sitting around their kitchen table—they always do this, talking about how their days were around lukewarm cups of coffee—but this time is different. This time, her mother is crying, salty tears falling into her mug, and her father is embracing her, his face weary, and he sighs quietly.

"I know you miss her, Mari," her father is murmuring to her mother, stroking her hair. "But you can't give up just yet. Things are just beginning. We can change things, change the Games—eliminate them, even! So children like Madge will never have to know the fear and the loss that we have. So that families will never be separated like you and Maysilee were. We can do it together. But I need you, Mari, I need you in this with me."

Madge doesn't understand, she doesn't know why her parents are upset or what they're discussing. She wants to go back to her room, so she steps backwards to go up the stairs. As she does, though, she trips on her new nightgown, two inches too long, and falls. Her parents hear the tumble and come running. Madge is crying out of shock and fear and her mother hastily wipes her own tears and Madge's while her father picks her up.

"Did you have a nightmare, Madge?" Her father is murmuring to her as she clings to him in his arms.

"Who's Maysilee, Daddy?" Madge whispers into his ear instead. Madge's curiosity usually wins out above all else, including ripped nightgowns and sore knees.

Her father tenses and over his shoulder Madge peeks out and sees that her mother has as well.

"Oh, honey," her mother sighs. And then she holds out her arms. "Come. I'll tell you."

"Mari—" her father protests.

"Henry." She stills him. "She'll either find out from us or from someone else. I would like it to be by the people who knew her best."

And so they tell her, about her mother's twin sister, her aunt, Maysilee Donner, a tribute who participated in an event that Madge had only vaguely heard of and barely remembered from previous years: The Hunger Games.

Her mother tells her about her twin with big blue eyes and big dreams, who wanted to be the best piano player in the nation, who loved a boy with curly brown hair and a dark brow, and how both of them, the boy and the girl, were chosen—were _reaped_—when they were sixteen years old to go to the Hunger Games. The girl died in the boy's arms, and the boy promised her he would fight in her memory. He won for her, he came home, but he was never the same after that. Her mother watched her sister die on TV and laid her body to rest when she came home. She missed her every day; she still does.

Madge does not cry when her parents tell her about Maysilee. She wants to know more. Why are there Hunger Games? Why haven't they stopped yet? Doesn't the Capitol know how sorry the Districts are for being bad all of those years ago?

Her parents look at each other sadly. "The Capitol always wants to remind us of our past so we… so we don't do it again." The truth is blasphemous, and Madge is too young to be discrete.

So they don't say anything else.

Madge falls asleep in her mother's arms.

0 0 0

Madge is ten years old. She is learning how to play the piano and likes to play softly for her mother when her headaches aren't so bad. It's been five years and her mother has only grown sicker, in both mind and in body.

"We're moving," her father tells her solemnly one night. "We need to go to a place where medicine is more easily accessible for your mother. And I've gotten a job offer. A very good one. Even better than the one I have here, as mayor. It will… my job will prevent you from being entered into the Hunger Games."

Madge's eyes are big. She has feared turning twelve for as long as she can remember for precisely that reason. To be able to live without the fear of being in the Hunger Games…

Madge nods at everything her father is saying, but in her heart she knows what her father will not say out loud: she may not be reaped for the Hunger Games, but that doesn't mean there won't be a price to pay because of it.

They leave the next morning. Madge does admirably well throughout the process, not shedding a tear even whilst her things are put into the train carts, even when her mother, weary and broken, is helped into a sleeping car by her father.

What makes Madge cry is the sight of a boy, her age, running towards the train station. "Madge! Madge, wait!" He cries, his legs carrying him as fast as they can. "Wait!"

Madge stumbles towards him as he races onto the platform and they embrace. She will miss this boy with hair as golden as dandelions and with eyes as blue as a clear summer's sky.

"Don't go," he whispers to her and squeezes her so tightly Madge thinks she might have purple bruises on her arms that match his. She whimpers; their pain is shared.

She has no choice, nor does anyone, really: everyone is helpless in these games. Nevertheless she cries and says, "I'll see you again someday." She murmurs it over and over until her father pulls her away. They hold eye contact, she presses against the glass window, he at the edge of the platform, until her train disappears. "I promise, Peeta."

0 0 0

Madge is twelve when she finally pieces together the whole truth. She has spent the previous two years on the edge of her staircase at night, in her neatly hemmed nightgown, listening in on her father's plans. She has rummaged through his office drawers multiple times, seeking out carefully hidden plans and blueprints and newspapers with highlighted, coded information. Plans to rig the Games. Plans to overthrow the Capitol. Plans that could get everyone in that house—including her—killed.

Madge wants in.

For a spy, Madge thinks, her father isn't incredibly discrete. He and her mother have the other members of the rebellion over at their house, every month, under the guise of a party, one that Madge is banned from. Her father or her mother tucks her in at night and the party evolves from there to a meeting, plans and formulas and gossip gathered from the week before, intel passed back and forth between the members.

Outside of those parties, her father has individual meetings with members and Madge is usually lucky enough to have her ear pressed to the door at least for a few minutes.

Madge worries that her house is bugged, just like most houses are in the Capitol, and is worried that President Snow hears and knows about everything about the rebellion and is just biding his time before he comes and shuts the whole operation down.

After all, Madge's father is the one who told her that there are eyes and ears everywhere in the Capitol and that she needs to be careful about what she says, no matter who she's around.

She can only hope that his own advice doesn't come back to haunt him.

It takes her about a week, but Madge manages to muster up some courage to confront her father. She photocopies some important documents, tape records some recent conversations, and then marches into his office.

"I know what you're doing," she says simply. She lays all of the photocopies, the tape recorders, the pictures, all on his desk. "I want to help."

Her father is pale and clammy with shock, his blue eyes, so much like hers, are wide with dread. "How—"

"I live here, too, you know," she says quietly. "I know what's going on in my own house. Although I think you could be more discrete.

"I could be a big help," she continues on, not letting her father try and respond, "I can get information that even you can't."

Her father gives her a shrewd look with a raised eyebrow. "Really?" He challenges to her bold statement. "Pray tell, Margaret, how so?"

Madge almost flinches at the use of her full name. It's rarely used and Madge knows that her father is deeply unsettled by what was unfolding between them. "The kids at my school," she says, "are the children of other Capitol officials, including the grandchildren of President Snow and the children of the former and current Gamemakers. They brag—all of the time—about what their parents do. It's a way to gain respect and prestige at our school. They're always telling us things that they shouldn't be. I can become their friend, goad them into telling me more—"

"Margaret," her father says softly, "you don't need to invent some elaborate scheme in order to become friends with these people. I know how important kids think it is to become popular and if you're worried that your mother and I might not approve—"

Madge is furious. "Is that what you think this is? Some joke?" She's humiliated. It's never been any secret that Madge has trouble making friends. She only had a few friends back home, and her parents were always worried that she would become anti-social and it would reflect poorly upon the family. "If I wanted to become popular, I could do it," she snaps at him, her face flushed red. "I just choose not to because I don't like a lot of other kids. But that's not the point. I wouldn't have been listening in our your meetings and carefully putting together evidence if the end goal was to become _popular_. I want to help and I know that I can contribute. Clearly, your plans aren't going away and I'm not either."

"Madge," her father whispers, stunned, "if someone catches us, you could die."

Madge rolls her eyes. "Oh, yes, because they would be _so _kind to me if you were found out and I was actually innocent. Dad, they would kill me either way. Didn't you think about this before you started this game?"

Madge's father looks down. Madge supposes that he did, briefly, but he was too caught up in the fervor to really think about it. She loves her father, but he's infuriatingly single-minded and selfish.

Finally, her father sighs. "All right, Margaret," he says wearily. "I'll talk to the other members about your proposal."

Madge narrows her eyes at him. "No," she says. "_I _will." It wouldn't do to have her father down talk her plans and portray her as someone she's not so that the other members won't let her in.

Another sigh. "Fine," he concedes. He scoops up her copies and tape recorders. "I don't even want to know how you got these," he shakes his head. "But I'll take them before they fall into the wrong hands."

Madge shrugs, slightly smug from her victory. It doesn't matter that he takes them, anyway: she has more copies upstairs.

0 0 0

Madge is thirteen when her mother dies. Her parents have never told Madge exactly what her mother suffers from—of course, they don't have to. Madge has researched and eavesdropped on enough whispered conversations to know that it's a miserable combination of chronic depression and a malignant brain tumor that causes her to have crippling headaches.

Her parents had thought that moving to the Capitol would give Marisol Undersee access to better technology and medicine to help cure her, but specialists had told her that removing the brain tumor could kill her, yet it was only growing larger. They gave her morphling to help the pain and other medications to slow the swelling, but regardless, her condition was fatal.

As Madge grew older, Marisol's impact on her life decreased. Madge has fond memories of her mother when she was little; the security of her arms and her hugs; brushing and braiding her hair before school; lullabies; bedtime stories; homemade scones with strawberry jam; and a camaraderie that they both needed and enjoyed since Madge's father worked so often. Yet as she grew older, her mother was confined to her bed more and more often, either because of her depression or the painful headaches that wouldn't go away. So Madge braided her own hair, made her own lunch, occupied herself with piano and homework and the occasional friend. She gradually started to take care of her mother the way her mother took care of her—at the Capitol, the roles have seemed to fully reversed, although Madge had the help of maids and caretakers.

When her mother is awake and mostly free of pain, Madge sits by her bedside and they talk quietly. Madge knows her mother hates that she has these illnesses and what they take away from her. She likes to assure Madge that she is like her twin sister, both of whom, she says, are stronger than she herself ever was.

Madge knows that's not true. "You're so strong, Mom," she tells her. "You fought and held on for two years, even when the doctors told you that you only had six months to live. You were the one who instigated the rebellion back home. You started it here. I'm only strong because of you."

Her mother smiles faintly, and Madge wonders in despair if she even heard or understood her.

When her mother dies, by that point Madge knows how to survive without her mother, but she isn't sure how she'll be able to live without her.

0 0 0

At fourteen, Madge watches Gale Hawthorne win the 72nd Hunger Games. Ever since she has turned twelve—the Reaping age—she watches the Hunger Games and roots for District 12. Reaping Days are awful because she is terrified that someone she knew will get reaped. She watches as former classmates and acquaintances go to their deaths, but she watches every moment, sends money to their funds, watches their dying breaths. She watches with defiance, with anger, and she cries for them, every time. She wishes that it meant something.

When Gale Hawthorne is reaped, Madge feels her heart break at the sight of his single mother and wailing three children at her side. She did not know Gale when she lived in District 12—his name sounded familiar and so did his strong, dark face, but they wouldn't have ever had the chance to encounter each other, due to their social class and age.

She is intrigued, however, at Gale's reaction to being reaped. He straightens his back, tilts his chin up, and narrows his eyes as he climbs the stairs to the podium. Madge has never seen such dignity during the Reaping. He reminds her of a cat, the lean lines of his body poised with a primal grace that fascinates her. His eyes are a slate grey and she sees the intelligence lingering in them. He is no hulking, moronic Career tribute. He is a fighter, a survivor.

Her father is sitting with her, watching the games in silence, as they always do, until Madge turns to him and says simply, "It's going to be him, Dad. He'll be the Victor."

Mr. Undersee cocks an eyebrow at her. He sees a handsome young man on TV and a teenaged girl beside him.

But, he's underestimated her before. The members of the rebellion welcomed Madge into their circle once they heard her practical and impassioned pleas and now she is an integral part of the movement. She was right; the children at her school wae blabbing idiots, and with a few well-placed questions and simpering, they tell her intel that would have taken the adults months to gather. She quickly becomes as involved, if not more, than the other members. She is obsessed with every aspect of the Games, of who's involved, the Mentor dynamics, which district allies with which, who plans the Games, and so on. She is their go-to researcher, an integral piece of their team. She puts together all of the pieces of intel they gather to form a coherent picture. The energy she puts into the rebellion propels it forward and motivates the other members to do better. The other members trust her tactics and trust her judgment. So, Mr. Undersee figures, if there is something that his daughter saw in Gale Hawthorne, perhaps he was worth supporting.

From there on out, Madge ignores the other tributes. All of her energy, her time, her money, is put into Gale Hawthorne. She follows him through the Opening Ceremonies and their unoriginal costumes, she follows him through training and the remarkable "9" he received, and finally, through the Games.

It is evident when he ignores the packs and sprints through the wilderness and builds a cave from snowdrift that he was smart enough to focus on the survival stations during training as opposed to combat. Madge listens as the commentators note his resourcefulness and he is rewarded by Haymitch with food and a blanket. His partner is already dead, so all sponsor money goes to him.

Madge watches as he expertly sets up snares throughout the arena to catch his opponents, or at least, slow them down. She holds her breath as he narrowly escapes being killed by two Careers and spends the next few days after hiding safely in his cave. None of the other tributes found him—a few even passed right by the cave but since it looked just like a pile of snow, they never suspected Gale was in there, cocooned and safe.

Whenever he is on screen her body is tense, humming with a nervous energy that almost scares her. She is completely on edge when they release the Mutts, but she tries to keep her calm. She believes in him. He can do this.

Her heart pounds in her chest as he makes his first kill—he is one step closer to coming home—but he has two more tributes to defeat before he can be safe. She almost cries out when Glow tries to choke him out, but she, too, underestimated him, because he quickly flings her off of him, and she is quickly eliminated.

The look on his face when he kills the last girl, stabbing her over and over, breaks her heart. Amidst the determination and anger, there is fear and anguish in his eyes. He is vomiting as they declare him winner.

As soon as she can regain normal breathing, she turns to her father, who is next to her, and says simply, "We need him."

Her father narrows his eyes in contemplation, but after a moment, nods and picks up the phone.

0 0 0

Madge is fifteen when she finds out what has become of Gale Hawthorne. She has tried to follow him as best she could throughout his Victory Tour and his return home. She knows he is wildly popular and he has only grown more handsome. She has always known that some Victors, especially from Districts 1 and 2, are in such positions, but naively she thought it was because they _wanted _to be. Now she knows better.

She does not react when she hears the news, save for a whitening of her face, but every night for a week she cries herself to sleep, weeping for him and for the lost innocence of all the children of Panem. But did they ever really have it in the first place? Or were they even born with it? Madge cannot remember a time when she was innocent, truly, blissfully, ignorant.

She vows that somehow, she will save him.

0 0 0

Madge is sixteen and amidst planning a rebellion, being a spy, living a double—triple—quadruple life, lying, deceiving, and manipulating others, she somehow, miraculously, unconsciously, manages to fall in love.

0 0 0

**Author's Note: **Soooo… that's Madge, everyone! Sorry for another interlude—no promises, but I'll try and make this the last one! I know everyone was expecting something a little different, but you know, I like my surprises ; ) I hope no one minds. (Had to add some Underlark there, because I kind of love them and am obsessed with them as a brotp.)

I'm going back to school in two weeks, so I hope to have another chapter out before then, because once I go back to school I have no idea when I'll be able to post again. A lot of people think I've abandoned this story! I promise if the dreaded day comes that I can't write ever again, I will post something on my profile page! I try and update that about every month, anyway, to let everyone know what my writing priorities are, so check there! I don't update as frequently as other authors, but if I haven't updated in a few weeks, don't take that to mean I have abandoned ship!

Regardless, thank you so much, everyone, for sticking with me and having patience. I hope it's worth it

M. Elena


	5. Chapter Three

**The Spoils of the Victor**

**Chapter Three**

"Well?" Finnick demands impatiently. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" He rakes his hand through his coppery curls and the motion causes them to stand on end. If it weren't for the gravity of the situation, Madge might have been a little amused. In all of the time since she's known Finnick she's never seen him look so disheveled before.

Finnick had, in fact, been Madge's first recruit to the Rebellion. Her father had told her the truth behind dashing Finnick Odair's flirtations and liaisons and Madge listened to her father tell her, his head shaking in sorrow, of how, when Finnick had initially resisted President Snow, his family in District Four had been brutally, secretly murdered, the truth blanketed over the chilling lie that they had drowned in an "accident". Two younger siblings and beloved parents were gone in an instant, and Finnick's fate was sealed.

Madge knew that having Finnick Odair in their confidence would be a huge asset to the team. As someone who was privy to the secrets of the Capitol's most elite, she figured that he didn't hold too much loyalty for the people who cruelly took his family away.

She was right. It seemed almost absurd that no one had thought of it before, but there it was. She was only thirteen when she met him, pretending that she was a suitor. Her father had protested, but, as usual, she promptly ignored him and did what she wanted. At first she was doubtful as to whether or not he would be given to her—she was rather young, and the thought of being sexually active so early seemed disgusting to her. Perhaps those morals would have been upheld in District 12, but the Capitol lived by a different code: many girls as young, if not a little younger, than she had already been exposed to sex and many had much older lovers that they took in exchange for expensive baubles and beauty enhancement surgeries.

So, Finnick was given to her without question.

Like Gale, Finnick was escorted to her suite in a black, inconspicuous car. She let him enter before her as she took a deep breath, wondering how she would pull this off. Like Gale, Finnick was examining her books when she entered the room. Funny now how she remembers that both of them were reading the same book—the secret one she had about the American Revolution. It was something of an inspiration for her, she supposed.

"Hello," she announced, loudly and clearly.

Finnick spun around. His jaw dropped. He had not been expecting her—a girl-child on the cusp of her teenage years while he, at twenty, had just left them. "Are _you_-?"

Madge had to think quickly as to which persona she wanted to adopt while talking to him—would she go with a wanton whore? She didn't want to have sex with him, but she had made a lot of sacrifices for the Rebellion, and she was no romantic—her virginity was merely a tool she could bargain with at that point. Or, she supposed, she could go with innocent schoolgirl, who wanted him to be her first? Or just an adoring, naïve fan? Courage failing, Madge went with the last one.

She rushed up to him. "It's really you!" She squealed, the face and persona of a simpering classmate in her mind. "My daddy said he could get you for me and he did! Finnick Odair!" She batted her eyelashes at him and tried not to gag at herself. "You're so much more handsome in person!"

It was only for a split second, but it was evident that Finnick wasn't sure what's going on. What, exactly, did this little girl want with him? "You're damn right I am, sweetheart," he recovered quickly, pasting on a charming grin. Madge noted that the gleaming white of his teeth could almost hide the fact that his grin was blindingly, perfectly, fake. "Now… what, exactly… um. Is on the agenda for tonight?"

"Oh, my, what _isn't _on the agenda?" Madge trilled, frantically berating herself from deviating from the plan.

Finnick faltered a little more, but recovered brightly. "Anything you want, Princess," he cooed.

"Oh, good!" Madge tittered, feeling slightly sick. She could only imagine the horrors he was forced to endure over the years. It had taken a toll—not physically, perhaps, but there was a deadening of his eyes and a fatigue around the handsome lines of his face and the posture of his shoulders. "I want—I want—I want to hear _all _about you!" She squealed, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the couch. "You've met _so many _famous people! I want to hear all of their secrets!"

Finnick looked surprised at this turn of events, but Madge knew he was also a bit relieved. Slipping into his usual charming façade, Finnick launched into a lively, but relatively harmless tale about District 1's mayor's wife.

This continued for another hour or so, Madge rapturously hanging onto Finnick's every word while frantically trying to figure out how she could discern his loyalty to the Capitol and let him know about the Rebellion and convince him to join it.

"I'm sure your family must be _so _proud of you!" Madge trilled, fishing for an emotional reaction.

Bingo. His eyes darkened and the muscles in his face tightened ever so slightly. He clenched his jaw and said tightly, "My family's dead." He turned his eyes on her, daring her, goading her. "The Capitol killed them."

Madge held his gaze steadfastly, refusing to cry. She could feel the change in the air around them. The next round of their games was just beginning. "We've talked about everyone else's secrets today," she whispered to him. "What are _your _secrets, Finnick Odair?"

Finnick's eyes narrowed. Madge realized a moment too late that she has miscalculated, bested at her own game—

He pounced before she could bat an eye. Madge found herself flat on her back, couch cushions beneath her, as Finnick Odair held her down, a snarl on his face. _Won't the girls at school be jealous now_, Madge thought sardonically before the panic set in.

"Who are you?" He growled menacingly. "Who sent you?"

Madge's face remained like stone. Finnick grabbed the collar of her blouse and shook. "Tell me!"

"Only if you calm down," Madge said, trying to keep her voice steadily.

Finnick barked out a bitter laugh. "I don't know who sent you here, Princess," he said, "but apparently they didn't do a good enough job of educating you about who I am. I'm Finnick Odair. I'm a Victor in the Hunger Games. I'm famous because I killed people and was _good at it_. You think the only way I can kill you is with a trident, little girl? You thought wrong," he hissed, squeezing her neck with his strong fingertips. "So who are you working for, Princess? What do they want from me?"

"If you kill me," Madge wheezes, "it'll only make things harder on you."

Finnick laughs. "Oh, yeah? I wasn't lying earlier, Princess. My family is dead. I have nothing left to lose. You would only be helping me speed the process along."

"Nothing left to lose?" Madge queried softly. "So if you lost Mags, you would be okay?" Her voice drops another octave. "If you lost Annie?"

Finnick's hands squeeze tighter, his eyes bulging with fear. He notices and drops his hands from her throat immediately, long purple marks, like finger paint, on the sides of her throat. "How do you know about them?" He sputters and Madge smirks. Point.

"I don't need other people to educate me," she said, her voice taking on a harder edge. "I educate _myself._"

"Who are you?" Finnick breathes out, unable to hide his awe, but his hands still pin her down.

It's now or never. "My name is Margaret Undersee," she tells him. "My father is a high-ranking Capitol official… and he is part of the Rebellion that wants to take down President Snow." She looks him straight in the eye and watches his reaction carefully. "I'm here because I want to know if you would be interested in joining us."

He pauses. Swallows. "And if I'm not?"

Madge smirks a little. "I wouldn't be here if I knew you weren't interested."

Here Finnick finally releases her and sits back on his heels. "You're a wily one, Undersee," he narrows his eyes at her and a corner of his mouth flits up. "I have to ask, though: why me?"

Madge sat up as well, straightening her clothing. "Isn't it obvious?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "You have more intelligence and with your—" here her mouth twisted sadly, "unique position—you can easily acquire specific information that we need to know."

Finnick pondered that for a moment. "True. I suppose, really, the question should have been 'why not me?'"

Madge snorted. "Your ego is as large as I've heard it is."

"That's not the only thing, sweet cheeks," he waggled his eyebrows at her. Madge flushed. "Don't worry, Princess, as gorgeous as you are, you're a bit young for my taste and not to mention, way too sneaky for the likes of me."

It was on the tip of Madge's tongue to say something along the lines of Annie being more of his type, but she didn't know him well enough to gage whether or not he would be offended at such a personal jab. Instead she asked: "Well? Are you in?"

Finnick raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose I have a choice, now do I?" He queried. "I highly doubt you and your organization would let me live for very long if I refused."

Madge shook her head, a little sadly. "This is completely and wholly your choice, Finnick." She looked at him, beautiful and proud and broken, like a cracked marble statue. "We do not aspire to be like the very institution that we are trying to bring down."

He looked at her, still a bit unconvinced. "And if I refused? Honestly. What would happen? Wouldn't you worry that I would tell Snow about your plans?"

Madge shrugged. "I don't see why you would. Realistically, what would you have to gain with our demise? Granted, if the Capitol went down, the more beneficial aspects of your lifestyle would be gone—the parties, the money, the fame—but I can't imagine that that 'good' outweighs the fact that you can never be free and happy with—with who you really do love."

Finnick flinched at the word 'love' but was silent for a long while. "You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" He asked her, a bit in wonder. "With or without my help, this is going to happen. I'm just a piece of the puzzle, aren't I?"

Madge gave him a bittersweet smile. "We all are," she told him. "In the big picture, we are just small pieces. All we need now is the person who will bring us all together."

Finnick gave her a look. "And who would that be?"

"I don't know," Madge told him honestly. "That person—and with them, the opportunity—hasn't presented itself yet. But until then, we can gather our knowledge, plan the details, learn—and hopefully when the time is right, we'll be ready."

He seemed a bit impressed now and Madge knew she won him over. "You are just a little firecracker, aren't you, Princess?" He asks, and there is a bit of affection in his voice.

"I may not be a warrior like you, Finnick," Madge grinned, "but I can do my research and I can fight dirty when cornered."

Finnick shook his head. "I don't know what I'm getting myself into," he admitted, "but damn if it doesn't feel right all the same. All right, _Margaret Undersee_, you've got yourself a new member to your little club." A strange glint enters his eyes, one Madge hasn't seen since watching his Hunger Games a few years before. He's ready for battle. "When do we start?"

0 0 0

Madge emerges from her memories, seemingly unaware that Finnick has been standing in front of her, silent, his shoulders heaving from his efforts of restraining himself from attacking her.

"Well?" He demands. "Well, _Madge?" _He snarls, disgusted. "When Gale couldn't stop talking about you, kept describing you, I _knew _something was fishy. And then when he told me your name… I knew I had heard it before! That's the nickname your dad has for you, isn't it? He doesn't call you that very often, but I figured it was you behind this! You really are the most manipulative, sneaky woman I know," this is said with grudging admiration, but also a healthy amount of bitterness.

"I didn't—I didn't mean for it to get out of hand," Madge says a little helplessly, spreading her hands out in front of her.

Finnick shakes his head. Stops. "Princess," he says, "what the hell were you thinking? What exactly do you want with him?"

Madge sighs. "I wanted to see if he would join the Rebellion."

Finnick frowns. "That doesn't make any sense. Why did you need to do it? Why couldn't you have had me ask him? And even if you insisted on being the one to see if he was fit for the job, why is it taking so long? You seemed so sure with me and yet with him…" Finnick trails off, understanding. His eyes widen. "Princess, no." He says, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his face contorted with pain. "You're _in love _with him?"

She cringes in response. "No, no—I don't—I don't know? I didn't mean for things to get this far! I just—I just—I know I should have let you simply ask him since you know him the best but…" here Madge's voice becomes quiet, ashamed. "I just wanted to get to know him, too."

Finnick sighs, his shoulders slumping. "Oh, Princess," he says softly. "You do pick the most treacherous games to play, don't you?" Over the past three years he's seen this little girl grow up from the feisty child to a sharp young woman and sometimes even he forgets that despite her brilliance and resilience, she is still just a girl in many ways. She is as imperfect as all of them, and Gale Hawthorne is her Achilles' Heel. And if Finnick doesn't put an end to this soon, she will become Gale's.

"Did you have a plan at all, Margaret?" He goes to sit down at the couch, looking like a defeated older brother who's just learned his little sister got her first boyfriend.

Madge sighs, sitting down next to him. "I thought I did," she admits. "I'd always been fascinated with him, since the day he was Reaped. When I learned what Snow did to him once he won—I knew we had to recruit him as well. Even though logically I knew that we could just have you ask him, I wanted to because it seemed like my only chance to get to know him. And—and maybe I wanted to show him that not all women wanted his body. That he was more than just a sexual partner. That maybe someone just wanted to get to know him."

Finnick shakes his head. "Don't you see though, Princess? Once Gale finds out who you really are, he'll just see that you were using him again—maybe not for his body, but for what he could bring to the Rebellion. You aren't that different from everyone else at all."

Madge jumps to her feet, her rising voice hysterical as she cries, "I _am _different from all of those other people, I _am!_ They don't know him like I do. They don't—they don't—"

Finnick fixes her with a hard, unrelenting stare. "They don't 'what', Margaret?" He says sharply. "What?"

Madge shakes her head wordlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"_No, answer me_," Finnick thunders, as if this is desperately important. "_Say it,_ Margaret."

"They don't love him like I do," Madge whispers, her face scrunched up in pain and regret. Madge looks to Finnick, feeling for the first time in many years, completely and utterly helpless. "What should I do, Finnick?"

Finnick's gaze is sympathetic, but resolute as he says firmly, "You know what you need to do. You need to tell him the truth." The part where he threatens to tell Gale if she doesn't is thankfully left unsaid—but it's still there, lurking under the surface, and Madge thinks that this game is perhaps the most dangerous of them all.

0 0 0

Although Madge and Finnick extensively discussed on the best way to tell Gale, in the end, like so many other things, that choice was taken out of their hands.

When Finnick comes home, finally, from Madge's place, it is difficult for him to conjure up a happy façade like he has spent the last years of his life doing. When he's in the penthouse that he and Gale share, however, he's grown accustomed to letting his guard down, not having to pretend all the time. It feels unnatural to have to start pretending now.

Evidently this is one thing that Finnick Odair is _not _good at it because the moment Gale spots him, Gale freezes, his eyes narrowing, calculating like the hunter that he is.

"What's wrong?" Gale asks. It's obvious that Finnick doesn't look right. He's disheveled, with bloodshot eyes and with 5 o'clock shadow, which is something that Finnick _never _has. He hasn't seen him this worse for wear in a while, if ever. When Gale and Finnick are done with clients, especially the rougher ones, they are immediately whisked away to their respective prep teams, who don't let them leave until they're looking pristine once again. It's evident that Finnick hasn't been anywhere near a prep team. Which must be mean he wasn't with a client… but then who was he with?

"You know," Finnick begins, a bit hesitantly, "just the usual. Late night and all that. Things got a bit out of hand."

"Really?" Gale raises an eyebrow as he stalks towards Finnick, who remains shock still at the doorway. "What got out of hand, exactly?" Why does Finnick smell like vanilla and citrus?

"Um, just, you know," Finnick runs his hands through his hair and laughs a bit nervously. "Adoring fans and all that." He opens his arms out wide and gives a half-hearted leer. "Everyone wants a piece of FInnick. I am quite distracting, you know."

"So I've heard," Gale says a bit wryly, thoroughly unconvinced. His eyes narrow in on something on Finnick's shoulder and it happens in a blink of an eye. Gale reaches out and swipes at Finnick's shoulder.

"What is this?" Gale demands, holding a golden blonde hair between his fingertips. The unique scent, the hair color, Finnick's behavior, it all adds up now. "What are you doing with Madge, Finnick?"

It seems like a long-shot of an accusation at first, but the way the blood drains from Finnick's face convinces Gale.

At this point, Finnick knows that there's no point in trying to lie or charm his way out of this one. He runs his hand over his face and feels old. "It's not what you think," he says tiredly. "She and I aren't involved sexually or romantically or anything of that sort. But we have known each other for a while, and I think the rest of the story you need to get from her."

Looking at Gale makes Finnick's battered heart crack—he looks completely distraught, betrayed, and confused. Finnick wonders if he's going to slaughter him like the true hunter that he is.

He doesn't. Instead, Gale grabs his coat and stalks past Finnick, slamming the door behind him.

0 0 0

Finnick had the decency to call Madge, telling her that Gale was on his way and was livid. Though grateful, Madge too wonders if Gale is coming to kill her. That makes her think that perhaps she doesn't really know him at all.

"Madge!" She can hear him calling her name outside of the front door, ready for battle like Finnick was. She crosses over to the doorway, heart pounding. She's ready for this, right? She can do this.

She opens the door. When she sees his face, she wishes fervently for a moment that she had never gone through with this plan, that she would rather have never met him than to have put that look into his eyes. "Madge," his face is tense, angry, and his voice is sharp like shattered glass, "what's going on?" But his eyes are dark, fathomless, empty.

Madge tells him. She tells him about her District 12 upbringing, and there is shock in his eyes when she tells him how her father was the previous mayor and that they left the district when she was young. She tells him about the Rebellion, about her role in it, and how she and Finnick met. There is some doubt, but mostly just awe. Madge tells him all of this haltingly—inarticulately—without grace or poise or anyway she's accustomed to speaking. But there is passion, some eloquence, some truth in her words when she tells him that all she wanted was to get to know him; how her loosely constructed plan seemed well thought out at the time; how over time, it wasn't so much about getting him to be with the Rebellion as it was just wanting to be near him.

After she finishes, he is silent for a long, long time, his face disturbingly neutral and his gaze averted to the ground. When he finally does look up, there is a fire in his eyes. "Geez, Madge," he shakes his head. "I can't—I can't even—what were you _thinking_? Were you thinking of anyone but yourself? _Do _you think of anyone other than yourself?"

Madge is flabbergasted. "How can you even say that?" She demands. "Of course I do! Otherwise, why would I be—"

"In the Rebellion?" Gale cuts her off with a look of disgust. "From what I hear, it's all about what you wanted. You pushed your way into the Rebellion regardless of your father's wishes, you coerced Finnick into joining and as for me—I'm nothing more than a tool to you anyway!"

"But—" _I love you_, she wants to say, but she clamps her lips together. She can't tell him yet how much she loves him, the words falter on her tongue. She thinks that if she told him now they would just sound cheap, anyway. "No, you're not!"

Gale shakes his head, clenches his fist, and his voice begins to climb. The fire in his eyes begins to roar and blaze. "Then even worse, I'm nothing but an experiment to you. Something you were curious about, and maybe you didn't intend for things to play out like this, but you kept going because the results surprised you. You didn't see me as a person, no matter how much you claimed you did—I was just an object to you, just like I am to every other person here. Stop fooling yourself, Madge. Stop thinking that you're above everyone else and that your cause is so noble—your intentions are good, but your actions all revolve to your own whims and fancies." He narrows his eyes at her in disgust. "You may be from District 12, but it's clear that you're a Capitol girl through and through."

He looks at Madge's crumpled face dispassionately. "There's no way in hell I'm going to join your Rebellion," he tells her. "I have a family to think about back home." He opens the door and turns away. "Don't worry," he says, "I won't rat you guys out. I wouldn't do that to Finnick or anyone else," _even you _is left unsaid. "Goodbye, Madge."

He shuts the door gently, and perhaps that's the worse part of all.

Madge sits on the floor, her flowing nightgown twisted around her, and begins to cry in earnest. She doesn't make a sound.

0 0 0

The ride to District 12 is done in silence. Gale barricades himself into a train car and doesn't come out, despite Effie's shrill demands. It makes him sick to think about how, when he goes back to the Capitol, he'll be bringing three unwilling passengers back with him: Haymitch, and two doomed tributes.

As if that thought wasn't bad enough, no matter how hard he tried, Gale couldn't get the image of Madge and Finnick's wounded faces out of his head. When he got back to the penthouse, Finnick was there in the front room, nervously pacing around. He jumped when he saw Gale come through the door.

"Not a word," warned Gale, then went to his room and slammed the door like the surly teenager he was. The week between that morning and his journey to District 12 was also spent in silence—he and Finnick didn't see each other much, both by choice. What was there to say to each other?

Gale is still fuming over Madge's betrayal. She was not only a Capitol girl, she was a girl from _town _in District 12, not to mention the old mayor's daughter. He had forgotten about Undersee, the mayor, whose sick wife caused them to flee for the Capitol. He barely remembered that he had a daughter.

Her words made sense, her story is plausible, but Gale hates being left out of the loop, and the fact that Madge and Finnick knew each other burns him. Is it jealousy? Perhaps, but Gale refuses to name it, so he doesn't.

"It's a big, big, day!" Effie squeals once he finally emerges from his car, tired eyes and messy hair. "Oh, you, District 12 people!" She fumes once she sees him. "What is this? We'll be there in two hours! You need to look your best!" She calls his prep team over and they immediately set to work on him once again.

He resignedly sits while they work on him, and as he looks out the window and sees the rolling green hills pass him by, he wonders what would happen if he smashed through the window and tumbled down off the tracks and into the wilderness, never to be seen again…

When the train rolls in and he sees his family standing at the platform, however, Gale knows why he would never run away from the Capitol. It's a blessing and a curse, really—granted, he rarely sees his family, but at least he isn't alone, not like Finnick—

Shit. Gale runs a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. He thinks about Fininck in his train with his prep team, waiting to go back to District 4 where he has no one. Or, maybe not nobody. In one of the rare moments that he and Gale were in the same room that week, Finnick confessed that he was in love with a girl—Annie Cresta, his former mentee, a Victor who went insane after her Hunger Games. At the time, Gale said nothing, thinking it was a ploy of Finnick's to gain sympathy but now Gale recognizes it for what it really was—an admission, an apology, a way for Finnick to level the playing field the only way he knows how: by giving away one of his own precious secrets.

Gale runs a hand over his perfectly made up face, crinkles up his forehead in a way Effie knows that he hates, and sighs. He shouldn't have blamed Finnick—he only put the pieces together the day before and hadn't known that the girl he knew as Margaret Undersee and the girl Gale knew as Madge were one in the same. He was being a stubborn fool. Finnick was nothing but great to him, and hell, Gale thought of him as one of his brother's. Treating him like shit wasn't going to fix his bruised heart or erase Madge's memory.

Storing that thought away for when he would return to the Capitol, Gale steps off the train to the awaiting camera crew, ready to capture his return to his family.

Gale is both relieved and horrified that his family knows the truth of his time in the Capitol. He couldn't handle it if his mother looked at him the way Katniss or the other Seam people did, but at the same time, he wishes he could erase sorrow from her eyes every time she gazed at her son.

Today, however, she is just happy that he's back. Hazelle raises her arms when she sees Gale and they embrace. He quickly surveys his family. They all look clean and most importantly, well fed. Their clothes fit well, are of good quality, yet are not flashy and off- putting. At eleven, Rory is much taller than Gale was at that age, and judging by the look in Rory's eyes, his mom has told him why Gale is stuck in the Capitol. And shit, Gale knows that he took Rory's innocence from him a long time ago—the day he was Reaped—but this still hurts him. Regardless, selfishly, Gale still likes knowing that Rory has not lost respect for him in the way that so many others have.

Vick and Posy, though much taller and older, still seem, for the most part, blissfully unaware of anything, and they welcome Gale back enthusiastically. The reporters ask a few questions, but after that (along with Effie's message to not be late to tomorrow's "big, big day!") the Hawthorne family is blissfully left alone and is able to make a quiet walk back to their house in the Victors Village.

They encounter very few people on their way back—the day before the Reaping always leaves District 12 solemn and quiet—but the people they do see look at Gale unrestrainedly, some with disgust, others with awe. Hazelle and Gale ignore them, Posy and Vick are unaware, and Rory glares at them with all the venom of a Seam kid, causing the intruders to look away hastily.

They have a quiet dinner, and Gale is pleased to see that the house is well stocked with food and all of the necessary items. Hazelle has made the long unused house cozy and welcoming, and Gale likes the touches from their old house in the Seam—she even has his hunting jacket hung up on a hook, a wistful reminder of his absence, a wishful dream for his presence. He glances at the schoolbooks scattered at the coffee table that sits atop a fuzzy rug next to the fireplace. He sees a basket of knitting, instead of laundry, and knows that while Hazelle still does some laundry to keep busy, she also has much more free time and energy for her own pursuits as well.

Being home—if only for one night—is a balm for his soul. Seeing everyone comfortable and healthy and happy as they chatter to each other over dinner brings peace to Gale that his wretched existence is worth something if the people he loves are doing well.

After dinner, he plays with Rory and Vick and Posy, throwing Posy into the air like he used to, though she's getting bigger now, and helping his mother wash up. He helps put the kids to bed, and it breaks his heart when Posy asks him if he's home to stay.

"No," he tells her, "but we can always call each other?"

She tells him it's not the same, but that she's glad he's home, anyway.

"I missed you," she says sleepily before she fades off.

"I missed you more," he whispers sadly as he shuts the door behind him.

When he goes downstairs, he finds his mother knitting on the couch, a cup of tea steaming next to her. She pats the seat next to her with a smile. "Let's talk, Gale."

With a mock groan, Gale sits down next to her. "What is it?" He teases. "This isn't the sex talk, is it?" He says playfully. "Mom, we've been over this, come on, I know all about—" he realizes what he's done and shuts his mouth with a clamp. It's easy to forget when he's home what the rest of his year is like.

The light in Hazelle's eyes fade as she says quietly, "Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Gale sits tentatively. She takes his hand. "I don't think I've ever told you," she begins, her eyes starting to water quietly, "how—how proud and grateful I am to you for taking care of this family, for _always _putting us first before yourself and your happiness." She begins to cry softly and Gale is alarmed—this is not what he wanted.

"Ma, ma, it's worth it," he tells her, enfolding her in his arms. His mother is strong, resilient. This is so unlike her. He hasn't seen her cry in a very long time, and it's very rare when she does. "As long as you and the kids are safe and happy, then that's enough for me. Really, it is."

"You've been taking care of this family for years," his mother whispers, drawing back, wiping her tears on the back of her hand. "Ever since your father died. I've always appreciated it—I just never thought it would come to this."

Gale shakes his head. "It's worth it."

His mother looks at him seriously. "Gale," she says, "how bad is it? Really."

Gale swallows. He knows that he will never tell his mother how bad it is. Ever. "Pretty bad," is all he says. "Some people are better than others. There's even one who—" he cuts himself off. It doesn't matter anymore. It wasn't like she was real.

But his mother is perceptive—too perceptive, and she catches his hesitation. "One who what?" She demands.

Gale sighs. Perhaps he'll talk of her, just to get his mother off his back. She is, after all, the lesser of two evils. "There was this girl," he lowers his voice. He knows his house isn't bugged—has had Haymitch check it regularly—but it doesn't hurt to be careful. "She—she paid for me, but she didn't—she never asked for sex. I think she was just lonely."

"What's her name?" Hazelle wants to know.

"You can't tell anyone," Gale winces. "Her name is Madge. Madge Undersee."

Hazelle frowns. "The previous mayor's daughter?"

Gale nods. "Her. I thought—I thought she really liked me, but—" and he can't help it. He tells her everything. From their first meeting to their last to his fight with Finnick to the words he told her before he left her crying in the doorway.

He finishes and she says, "Oh, baby," and he can't help the tears pricking at his eyes at her tone. He missed her motherly tone, her presence. They always leaned on each other for those first few years, trying to keep the family together. He has Finnick, but it isn't the same in many ways. They are too solitary in a lot of ways, too skittish, too broken. They need people who are whole and warm and full of light, people like—

"I don't know this girl," his mother says, "but it sounds like she really did like you. She sounds like someone who is very young, who let things get out of hand, who meant no harm. She could have let Finnick recruit you, but she wanted to do it. And maybe it began as an experiment, as something to satisfy her curiosity, but it's evident that she's hurting—and maybe she's hurting for you."

Gale is silent. Forgiveness is eluding him—he always did hold on to grudges far too long. "Maybe," he finally says. "But she just saw me as a means to an end. Not as an actual person."

Hazelle sighs. "I worry about you," she says, "and it seems like that place is filled with nothing but despicable people. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, or maybe I'm naïve, but—this girl made a mistake. That's true. She handled things incorrectly, but it sounds like she has some decency and I think you need to remember what you said earlier—this girl is probably just as lonely as you are. It's rare to find a kindred soul, a connection," she looks at him, her slate eyes peering into his soul. "Just don't be so quick to throw it away. Hmm?"

He would promise his mother anything. "Okay," he grudgingly agrees.

And she smiles. "Good." She doesn't ask if he'll join the Rebellion and Gale is glad that she didn't—he doesn't know what his answer would be, even though he told Madge he wouldn't join under any circumstances. He is just glad that his mother seems a little lighter now, not so burdened, and Gale knows he's done his job. He can only hope that he will be her last tragedy.

0 0 0

The day of the reaping is a perfect morning, crisp but sunny. Gale rises, stretches from his bed. The mattress isn't as soft as the one he has at the Capitol, but he could care less. He thinks, if he had never been Reaped, this would have been his last year. He wonders if his reaping was inevitable, if he would have always ended up here, if perhaps the odds were never in his favor.

It's tempting to go into the woods. He wonders if Katniss is there, greeting the dawn like she always does. Maybe he's a coward, but Gale decides not to go find out. It's tempting, and he misses the woods like he would miss his right arm, but he's afraid that if he goes, he'll never come back out again.

Gale has to arrive before everyone else—Effie wants him to help her keep Haymitch in line (yeah, right)—and so after breakfast he bids his family farewell and goes to the town center.

People look at him funny as he passes, but offer no greeting, and Gale could care less anyway. He's gone through every emotion possible when thinking about his former kinsmen from District 12—everything from sorrow to betrayal to anger to bitterness—but now his heart has hardened towards them like coal. He will always feel a bond with them, but never again will be submit to their truly narrow-minded ways. Their rejection has taught Gale about looking under the surface of things, of never being too quick to judge—

Shit. He passes the mayor's house. Looks up at it. He sees yellow flowers in the yard and wonder if she ever saw them, or if they were planted after she left. There's a strawberry patch in a corner and he remembers her saying that scones with strawberry jam and whipped cream are her favorite things to eat. It's hard for him to think of her here, living in this house, going to school with him, being best friends with the baker's son like she had mentioned. He can't stop remembering.

Effie, looking repulsive in bright green and pink, welcomes him warmly. She air kisses his cheeks and waves him off to see to the already drunk Haymitch.

Gale sits heavily down next to him. "How's it going, Abernathy? Is today a vodka day or a scotch day?"

Haymitch shakes his head. "Neither. Whiskey."

Gale snorts. "Should've figured. Try to stay on the stage this year, will you?"

Haymitch grunts. "No promises. Want to see if Effie's hair can match her face."

Gale smirks. Well, whatever gets you through the night. This is the kind of entertainment he approves.

Eventually the children file in, and he tries not to, but his eyes search through the crowd as the mayor introduces Effie and she trills over the loudspeaker as they begin to watch the usual Capitol video introducing the Hunger Games.

It's her scowl that draws him in, really, of all things. She looks better—still too skinny, but her hair looks healthy and her skin isn't a pallid color anymore. She meets his gaze bravely, and there's barely concealed ill will. It pains him too much to hold it and he looks away, catching on gold hair nearby.

It's Primrose Everdeen's first reaping and it makes Gale feel sick. First Primrose, then Rory, and then Vick, and finally Posy. Then they will all be free until their children come up. Good thing Gale has decided never to have children. Other Victors do and Gale calls them fools. Don't they know that the Capitol will just take them, too?

Effie has stopped prattling and it's the moment of truth. "This year, our female tribute will be.."

Gale's eyes cut to Katniss again. How many slips does she have in there this year? Twenty? Thirty? Has she beaten his record of forty-two?

He prays that it's not her, that it won't be her. She has already lost too much in her life, has already struggled more than anyone should… But sometimes, some things really are inevitable. Sometimes, no matter the road taken, no matter what came before, the end result will always be the same.

"PRIMROSE EVERDEEN!"

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**Author's Note: **Hello, everyone! Long time no see! I'm sorry it took me so long to update! I definitely got stuck writing the first scene with Madge and Finnick… it takes me a long time to figure out the direction I want to take that chapter, and I was just plain unmotivated. If you follow me on tumblr ( .com) then you know that I was trying to have this posted over Thanksgiving break… obviously, that didn't happen, BUT I got super motivated and wrote about 80% of this chapter during then. I knew I wanted to get up to the Reaping so I figured I could post something Sunday night and have it be shorter, or post it later and have the chapter be longer… as a reader I knew which option I would prefer, so here we are!

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm really proud of it and I think it definitely answers a lot of questions you guys have had in your fabulous reviews. Thank you for your continued support! I love and appreciate you all.

Thank you to: Guest (x4), abc, ilovenutella99, and ilikeyogurt for anonymously reviewing! To everyone else who reviewed, check your inboxes for a message from me

Thanks again, everyone! Be patient for the next update!

M. Elena


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